


Best of Rivals

by cassthecryptid



Category: Smosh
Genre: Gen, On Hiatus, and also damien and lasercorn have great rivals but also have interests in each other vibe, anywho, because did you SEE that new video?, detective damien haas, hey knife gave me the idea, i think??, like killing eve??, serial killer lasercorn, what more could you ask for?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2020-03-07 17:52:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassthecryptid/pseuds/cassthecryptid
Summary: Lasercorn wouldn't considered himself obsessive, but here he was, obsessed.Everything about the Detective is perfect, his track record, his arrests, his face. It's perfect for crushing beneath your heel.or, a universe in which lasercorn kills for the attention of detective damien haas





	1. One

"We'll catch this bastard, you know that, right?" Miller grabs his arm, squeezing it sympathetically. Her eyes are wide and full, but Damien can't help but feel like he's looking past them, as if she isn't there at all.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I know. We always do...but it's just..." He turns back towards the board, letting her arm fall away from him. "Something's  _different_ about this one." Damien reached out towards the board before pulling away. "Like he's-"

"Detective Haas?" He turns at the voice calling his name. Captain Hecox hangs out of his office, a coffee cup in hand. "Do you have moment?"

"Of course." Damien straightens his tie, turning towards Miller as she gives him a nod, lips pressed together in a straight line. 

_Good luck._

He steps into the Captain's office. It's colder than the rest of the bullpen, the oscillating fan and the grey storm clouds rolling by outside don't work to help the temperature. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"Close the door please."

Damien obliges, pushing the heavy wooden door behind him, and drawing the shades over the window in the middle for good measure. "I assume this has to do with my case?"

"Unfortunately." The years weigh on the Captain's face, especially clear in the low lighting. His dark brown hair has turned silvery at the roots, and his beard, once well kept, is now thicker and more scraggly than it was when Damien first started working here. The worry lines are etched deep into his face, his eyes solem and blue behind his glasses. "It's exactly what I was worried about. The deaths _are_ connected." He flicks his eyes away from Damien for a moment, almost with annoyance. "You were right."

"I was...?" The words don't feel confident, but Damien lets them hang there, almost afraid what the Captain might say if he speaks again. 

"You were." The Captain draws in a breath. "I thought that I should tell you first. We received a package this morning."

Damien studied the man's face. "How bad is it?"

"It almost gave Officer Vasandani a heart attack."

"Oh god," Damien murmurs.

"A box came in today, addressed to the precinct." A flash of lighting flares off in the distance. "It was filled hearts. Human hearts. Five of them."

"Holy sh-," Damien's eyes lock with the Captain's, but he already knows the answer to the question he's about to ask. "Do we know for sure that they real?"

"We have some tests running right now, but from the looks of it..."

"Holy  _shit_ ," Damien finds it hard not to repeat himself. "I was right." 

 _Topp can suck it._ Damien squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, _that's not what he should be focusing on._

"You said you just got them?"

"Less than an hour ago." The Captain folds his hands, lifting his head slightly. "I have a few officers scrubbing the cameras for any sight of the killer now."

"No," Damien shakes his head. "You won't find him, he's too good."

"How do you know that?"

"I've seen the way he works, it's sporadic, but it's methodical, every angle is considered."

"You've studied him."

"I've had this case on my mind for months, after those bodies dropped..." Damien studies his hands, nervously picking at the skin on the back of his thumb. "I just couldn't get it off my mind." He raises his head to look at the Captain again. 

The Captain presses his lips together, and Damien knows that there can only be more bad news hiding behind his expression. "There was something else in the box." He pulls a manila folder from under his desk, sliding it forward towards Damien. "We found...a letter...in the box."

Damien peels open the folder, his stomach dropping as he looks down at the letter, coated in blood and sealed inside of a plastic bag. It's scratched out messily in black ink, but Damien can read it just fine.

_Don't you just love eating hearts in the morning? It's a fun pastime of mine. Here, I've included a few just for you. I know that's you've been looking for me, and you've gotten a little too close for comfort if I may say so myself. But you understand the game of it all better than any of your idiot colleagues._

_I look forward to playing with you, Detective Haas._

"He knows who I am?"

"Which is why effective immediately, you have been put on official leave from the department."

" _What?_ _"_ Damien sits forward in his chair. "Sir with _all_ due respect, this is a horrible idea. He wants _me_ -"

"Which is why you need to be out of harm's way."

"If you do this, he'll start dropping bodies." Damien stabs his finger at the envelope. "I know him. I know his game, or at least he thinks I do. I'm his opponent. His rival. If I'm gone, he won't just go away, he'll find more victims." The silence sharpens as another flash of lighting glances off of a building in the distance. "Trust me, Captain. Please."

The Captain looks away, closing his eyes for a second. He opens his mouth to speak before closing it again, letting out air through his nose. "Fine." 

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't disappoint me."

"I'll try not to."

Damien returns to the board with a shiver permanently running down his spine. He didn't know that the killer would actually have gotten his message...turns out trusting his gut was the right idea. Damien pulls a piece of paper from his desk, quickly jotting down the gist of the message before sticking it on the board.

"What was that about?" Miller wheels her desk chair towards him, raising an eyebrow. 

"I was right." He grins with one side of his face. "About everything..." 

Her eyebrows jolt skyward. "You  _were_?" Courtney smirks relentlessly. "Topp is  _finally_ going to eat his words."

"It's about time," Damien lets his words trail off. A bright orange flash of hair catches his attention. He narrows his eyes, stepping slowly towards where he saw it before breaking out into a run. Damien's halfway through the precinct before he realizes that he's lost them.

He doesn't quite know what he saw, but he can't help but feel like it's important...somehow.

In this killer's game, everything is important, the position of the bodies, the hearts. They all fit together...somehow.

Damien felt like he was standing in the middle of a jigsaw piece, and no matter how hard he tried to change his point of view, he could never truly see the full picture.

This man wants him to play a game, and to save lives, Damien is willing to do anything.

 

</3 </3 </3 </3 </3

 

That was too close of a call for comfort. 

But he had to see the Detective again, for just a second.

Lasercorn wouldn't considered himself obsessive, but here he was, obsessed.

Everything about the Detective is perfect, his track record, his arrests, his face. It's perfect for crushing beneath your heel. 

He hopes that the Detective likes his gift, he spent a good amount of time collecting it, it would be a shame if it went to waste.

Lasercorn pulls the grainy photograph from his pocket, unfurling it slowly.

He had taken it while watching the Detective from his car several weeks ago. The photo isn't great, but the man looks so peaceful in it, it would've been a shame  _not_ to have printed out. He runs a finger over the Detective's face, smiling to himself. 

 _Oh, how I want to taste your blood_.

Would the Detective cry if he made him bleed? He seems the type to look cute when he cried, and Lasercorn wonders whose throat he might have to slit to get that to happen. Perhaps the female detective the Detective was always around, the two seem close. 

He ignores the way his blood boils when he thinks that  _his_ Detective might have some sort of romantic entanglement with her. 

The man is  _his_ detective, after all. He was smart enough to see all of the clues Lasercorn had left there, clues that he knew only his greatest rival could find.

No, Lasercorn wasn't obsessed.

He had just found his perfect match.

 


	2. Two

It’s half past three am when Damien gets the call. 

He’s awake already, toiling over the case. Something deep within him knows that a call this early, this urgent, can only mean one thing. 

There’s a frantic undertone to dispatch’s voice that isn’t normally there, and it worms its way under Damien’s skin, and it’s a warm sharp feeling he’s not used to. 

He changes out of his pajamas and into something more presentable, running his fingers through his hair and popping in a mint before hurrying through the early morning thunderstorm to his car. 

The drive is quick, and Damien takes the trip in silence, the sound of his heartbeat humming in his ears. The rain drives a thin fog from the ground, fogging up the car as he moves farther into the city. Raindrops cling to the windows, drawing lines across his vision. Street lights whizz by, their color smeared like oil across the water pooling on the windshield.

In the distance, Damien can see the flash of lights, red and blue, alternating hypnotically against the backdrop of a yellow-grey cement building. He stops the car against the curb, stepping out into the storm before the engine can let out its final rattling snort, an umbrella, black as the night sky, opening above his head.

“Haas, finally,” a voice catches his attention. Whittle stands against the building, barely shielded from the rain, her CSI coat slick with water and the hood pulled up over her head. She jogs towards him, her voice echoing across the quiet street, “What the fuck took you so long?”

“I live halfway across the city.” Damien met her halfway, holding out the umbrella for her to stand under. “If I could’ve been here any sooner, I would’ve.” Whittle squeezes next to him under the umbrella, blinking slowly in a nod as the two start towards the crime scene. “How bad is it?” 

“Pretty bad,” she murmurs. “I’ve never - and I’ve been on the force for eight years -  _ never _ seen anything like this.” Whittle shakes her head, turning up to him. “It’s...just...well...hopefully you didn’t eat anything before this.”

She leads him forward, rounding the corner to where there are officers with spotlights pointed on a body that's been propped up against the wall. 

There’s blood everywhere. The smell of it mixes with the rain, and a dance of iron and storm out play one another. For once it’s not the blood that makes Damien’s stomach chur. It’s the way this particular body looks.

The victim has been slit open, the first incision being made at the top of the sternum, and dragged all the way down to the base of the stomach. The chest cavity had been pried open, and each rib was pushed outward, butterflied against the wall to resemble a pair of hauntingly skeletal wings. The head of the victim rests against the building, wild bloodshot eyes still staring blankly upwards towards the sky. 

The chest cavity gapes open like the mouth of some horrible creature, a mess of blood and tissue. Even with all of the blood, Damien can still make out the organs inside. For a second, they all seem to be all there, but even with all of his counting and recounting, one is still gone. 

The heart is very clearly missing.

“It’s him,” Damien feels his heart race. “The Heart Eater, he was here.” Sarah nods, but there’s something in her face that catches him off guard. “There’s more than this, isn’t there?” 

“Um,” Sarah shifts on her feet. “Yeah. And this one’s weird.” She lifts her head from looking down at the corpse. “Agnew!” Another CSI tech stand from where he’s crouching around the corner. “Is it still intact?” 

The man nods, waving them over. Damien lifts the umbrella as the two of them cross the alley to where the tech is standing.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Agnew gestures to red writing that’s been etched out on the wall. Damien hands the umbrella to Sarah, crouching down to be eye level with the message. He snaps a quick photo, but it’s blurry, and he asks Agnew to send him a nicer one as soon as possible.

Damien stands back, studying the words. They aren’t even words exactly, almost pictures, but one thing is for certain, his name is spelled out quite clearly below them. The Heart Eater’s left him another puzzle.

 

<3

 

He stays at the scene until the sun crests over the city’s edge, the storm parting just enough for soft bands of daylight to warm his skin from the chill of the wind. 

The commuters on their morning walks crane their necks to catch a glimpse of whatever’s behind the yellow tape. Reporters have begun to crowd around like vultures, and their vans and cameras and plastered on expressions suffocate him. Normally Damien would hate the civilians so close, but his mind is very much elsewhere at that moment. He knows that this has to connect to the previous bodies somehow, but he’s barely grasping at any leads...and he just needs more time to-

“Haas!” A voice barks over his thoughts. The tone is thin and reedy, with the heft of a humming tenor underneath. Topp. 

“I thought I told the Captain not to let you anywhere near this case.” Damien can feel the other Detective looming behind him. The incessant tapping of his toe is splashing the water that had pooled up in the street onto the back of his pants. He moves in a fluid turn, lowering his eyes down to match the intensity of the gaze shooting up at him. “I’m surprised you’re even here. You were laughably wrong about this entire case.” Damien turns his head skyward, breaking their eye contact as he rolls his eyes at the clouds. “Organ snatchers,” he scoffs. “And that wasn’t even your  _ worst _ idea.”

“And you think telling the public that we have a serial killer on our hands  _ is a good one? _ ” Topp raises his eyebrows is acquisition. “The last thing you want to do is ensite a panic. And if you ever want to make captain-”

“I don’t,” Damien cuts the man off abruptly. “I might be ambitious, but I’m not just going to lie to the citizens of this city just to make them feel more at ease.” There’s a slight pause as Topp narrows his eyes. “They deserve to know the truth, no matter how much it might scare them.” 

Agnew passes by them, handing Damien several colored pictures of the writing on the wall. It’s clearer here, but most of it had been washed away with the rainfall anyhow. Damien studies the markings vehemently. They mean nothing to him. 

He slips them into his coat for safe keeping. “Now if you would, please get out of my crime scene before I make you leave.” Damien gestures to the officers keeping the civilians back behind them. “I think it’d actually be funny to sic one of the officers on you.” He claps Topp on the shoulder twice, “you’d be the laughing stock of the precinct for weeks.”

“You wouldn’t-”

“Test me again and we’ll see.” Damien pushes past the man, checking with Officer Vasandani before climbing into his car and driving home. 

 

</3 </3 </3 </3 </3 </3

 

_ Roasted Heart Steak _

 

_ ½ cup butter _

_ 2 teaspoons fresh rosemary _

_ ¼ cup salt _

_ 1 human heart, freshly ripped from the chest _

 

Lasercorn finishes the recipe with a flourish of his pen, making sure to dot his i’s and cross his t’s. He lifts it up to the light, his fingertips concealed by the thin layer of a rubber glove. Lasercorn waves it in the air until the ink seeps into the page, before setting it down on the table for safekeeping.

The warehouse is stuffy, and Lasercorn draws in breaths of the warm humid air. It smells vehemently of blood and dust, and he can’t quite get enough. 

His most recent victim lays on the ground, the left side of their chest carefully sliced open. The heart of the deceased sits in a small Tupperware container, saved for later. It was hard not to even take a small taste of the treat, the bloodied organ was calling his name from here.

He positions the body on the floor, moving the arms onto the stomach and pushing the feet together. With a light hand, he presses the recipe page into the bloody cage where the heart had been previously. Lasercorn watches with amusement as the card slowly begins to become saturated with red. 

He begins packing up his things, thinking imagining the Detective coming through the door to admire his handy work. 

This job is barely even done, and he’s already thinking through who he should take as his next victim. Ah the fleetingness of it all. 

He decides, quite unlike his normal rational, that the Detective might get bored soon, lose hope of saving people...He might just have to kidnap someone next time.

The thought of wasting a perfectly good kidnapping just to release the victim later disgusts him, but he can’t help but want to humor the detective. If he thinks he can save just one person, it may be possible to give him a rare commodity. Hope. Something Lasercorn knows that he himself lost a long time ago.

For reasons unbeknownst to him, the detective has made himself important to Lasercorn. And despite his normal adept abilities at knowing himself, this is something he still is yet to understand. 

His best guess is that this just happens to be another happy obsession. Lasercorn finds himself often interested in the most menial of things, it was once guns, and then knives, and now, it seems to have changed to hearts. And the Detective, of course. 

Lasercorn has made it his mission to run circles around the detective, to watch him furrow his eyebrows in that cute little way he does when he gets confused. 

The game board is set. The clock is ticking, and Lasercorn has already moved forward his first piece. 

All he has to do now is wait for the Detective to join him at the table.

 


	3. Three

Seven gunshots crack out in the morning air, and Damien finds himself wincing at them.

Despite the sound and the smoke that hang in the air, and the tremors of memory that running rampant through through his skin, Damien could never forgive himself if he missed this. Damien looks out into the deep hole in the ground, blinking emotionlessly at a black oak coffin draped in an American flag. 

It’s raining again, the perfect weather for a funeral. 

He holds an umbrella above his head, standing uncomfortably in a military uniform he hasn't worn in years, and alone amongst a crowd of family and friends belonging to the deceased. Damien knows none of them, and the guilt was only just beginning to creep up the back of his neck, threatening to tighten his throat if he tried to speak.

He hadn’t even known that Davidson had stayed in the city until he’d gotten a call from the man’s wife.

“I thought you should be there,” her voice had been faint over the phone. Endless hours of crying and pulling herself together only to cry again had left her voice hoarse. “He always told us stories about his unit...over there, I thought that it wouldn’t be right unless you came...” 

After his tour in Iraq, many of his brothers in arms had gone their separate ways, he'd hear from some of them every once and awhile, but this was a shock. He’d agreed to attend almost immediately.

Davidson was a good man, always upbeat no matter the situation. He was a friend. A leader. A hero. The words weren’t his own, and would never be his own, but he knew that it was a nicer way of saying that he’d never taken the time to really make friends with Davidson. But he was still here despite that, and for him, it was enough. 

Damien tips his eyes up from the coffin, searching the crowd for Davidson’s widow. She stands at the edge of the hole in the ground, an umbrella held in one hand, and the hand of her son, _Charlie, maybe? --_ Damien can’t remember his name -- gripped in the other. The boy looks no older than seven. He would’ve been about one when his father left for overseas, and nearly five when he returned. 

Damien had met him once. He has his mother’s curly black hair and warm brown eyes, but there was a certain curve on the pudge of his cheeks that could only be from Davidson. 

She seems to be trying to keep herself from crying, her face strong, but her eyes and her jaw were tight. Damien can feel her turmoil from here. She should cry, it’s her husband's funeral for god's sake, but something was holding her back. Maybe it was for her son, or some disapproving aunt, but that expression cut away at Damien, and for the moment, he pretends he doesn't know why. 

The coffin is lowered slowly into the ground, and Damien watches as the widow and her son toss flowers on top. The precession ends after that, and Damien begins to take the long slow walk back to the church. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to making small talk about a time in his life he’d rather forget while eating cold tortilla sandwiches off of paper plates. 

“Hey, Haas! Wait up!” The that voice comes from behind him, saves him. He turns, watching a figure, face obscured by a large red umbrella, jog towards him through the rain. 

“ADA Leak,” Damien feels himself smile slowly. “I didn’t see you at the funeral, I was worried that I’d have to go through this entire thing alone.”

“Hell no,” Keith Leak Jr. tips the umbrella back, grinning at Damien. “Just got here a little late.” 

“You missed the whole funeral.” 

“I saw them lower the coffin!” He lowers his umbrella, closing it as he ducks under Damien’s, falling in line next to him. “That counts, right?” Keith shrugs it off, moving too quickly for Damien to reply. “But y’know how work can be-”

“Law office business?” 

Keith lets out a long breath that turns into low whistle. “When I was told I was getting a promotion, I didn’t expect it to be this much work.” 

“You’re the damn _Assistant District Attorney_ , what _did_ you expect?”

“Bigger office, interns with coffee?” He sighs, “I thought DA Sui would be the one all of the work. Turns out there’s more to the word ‘assistant’ than I thought.” 

“How is Olivia, by the way? I haven’t worked a case with her recently.” 

“She’s doing fine,” Keith nods, “as well as she can do with this whole _serial killer_ nonsense on every tv station you turn on.” 

“Are you really mad about that?” 

“A lot of people are.” Keith’s voice goes serious for a moment, his eyes turning stoney. “You shook up a lot of people when you decided to tell the public that they had a serial killer on their hands. No one likes feeling like a rabid murder might come and eat their heart.” 

“They deserve to know,” Damien stares straight ahead, watching the line of people moving towards the church ahead of them. “It’ll be easier if people know what to report anyway.”

He can hear Keith rolling his eyes. “If by that you mean every precinct is gonna be flooded with false reports from terrified citizens. You’re just solving one crisis by making another.” 

“I’d rather get 100 false reports and one true one than nothing at all. I’m trying to save people, not avoid paperwork.”

“Compromise, you can do all my paperwork, and I’ll kick back and forgive you.”

“Somehow this doesn’t sound fair.”

Keith smiles at him from the side. “Is anything ever fair in our lines of work?” Damien opens his mouth to respond, but it wasn’t quite worth it. Keith let out a sharp chuckling laugh. “No matter how many hats you take on, same old Haas.” 

“Except,” he holds up a finger. “I’ve swapped Private for Detective, and you’ve taken up ADA, quite,” he coughs, “graciously...” 

“Sarcastic, too. You really haven’t changed at all, have you?” Keith laughs again, clapping Damien on the shoulder. He shrugs, trying his best not to gloat. “I did the best I could to announce it, there just happened to be a parade...and I joined in.”

“Of course.” Damien puts up air quotes with his free hand. “Happened to.”

Keith rolls his eyes, bumping against Damien’s shoulder. “It was Noah’s fault.”

“It’s always Noah’s fault,” Damien sighs. 

“ _He_ was the one that made the mistake to marry me in the first place. And the one who made the mistake of becoming a military lawyer. And generally, getting into law in general.” He turns his head towards Damien, nodding solidly. “Many mistakes were made.”

Damien chuckles along with Keith. “Clearly.” 

The two make small talk as they head through the misty morning, updating each other on what they’d missed out on in each other’s lives. Keith is happy to know that Damien’s kitten has finally started getting along with the ties in his closet better now, and Damien is equally happy to learn that Keith has finally managed to teach Noah how to cook. 

“It took some time,” Keith grins. “But his palette isn’t limited to buttered noodles and cereal anymore.” 

"I swear to god, that man has the palette of a twelve year old."

They meet up with Noah at the church. He’d arrived later than Keith, finally managing to get himself out of a particularly long meeting with some official about a new policy.

“It was _the_ most boring thing I’ve ever had to attend.” Noah loops his arm around Keith’s while also managing to grab a plate of deviled eggs in one hand and a sandwich in the other. “It was worse than that…” He pats Keith’s arm. “That Johnson case, the one with the dog?”

“I remember,” Keith replies, “the bodega dog?”

“Yes!” Noah rolls his eyes, looking to Damien with his wide owl-like expression. “And that was one of the worst cases I ever worked! It was open and shut, but it dragged on like...well like a case about policy on a bodega dog.” 

Damien leaves the two of them to mingle with guests. Keith seems to recognize more people than he does, and if Damien did know anyone here, they’d just ask him about Davidson, and he didn’t have much to provide to them. Most of them are grieving family, looking for a shred of a feel-good army story from anyone who could give it.

There are no good stories from that time.

War is a hell glorified like Christmas. Damien regrets many things in his life, and his decision to join the army ranks near the top. 

The things he’d seen, and the pain that he’d felt, it wasn’t worth the glory or honor or the student loans he’d been trying to pay off. It had left him with nightmares and insomnia, his heart racing whenever someone fired a shot on a case, or even slammed the door behind him too loud. Becoming a cop probably wasn’t the best for his nerves, but it was the only way he knew _he_ could help people. 

“Damien?” A voice speaks timidly from behind him. He looks to see the small frame of Davidson’s widow standing to his left. She smiles slowly, weakly, her eyes barely managing to crinkle up at the edges. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

He returns to sentiment, but his words feel empty. She looks up at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to spill all of his secrets to her.

“You knew my husband.” He’s thankful for her leading the conversation. “You were in his unit with Mr. Leak, right?”

“Yeah,” Damien nods. “He told us stories about his time back home a lot. Talked about you, too.” 

The woman smiles warmly, tears returning. “He was a good man, he didn’t deserve this.” 

“He didn’t.” Damien still doesn’t entirely know how he died. He feels bad again and again, all of his shortcomings cropping up at the perfect moment. He’d been so engrossed with the academy, and getting into the officer’s program...he’d let his relationships with his old friends fall to the wayside.

“How are you two holding up?” Damien’s eyes fall to the woman’s son, Davidson’s son. He lays on the floor, scribbling on a piece of paper with crayons, a book open next to him. An older woman is standing above him watchfully. “This must’ve been a shock for both of you.”

She moves slowly to stand against the wall he’d hid himself in when Keith had left him alone. “Charlie and I were home when I got the call.” The woman presses her lips together, closing her eyes, her chest shuddering. A silence like nothing he’s ever felt before accompanies them as they watch Charlie color. Damien tenses as he feels her hand squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Yeah,” he speaks quickly. “It was nothing…” He pauses, his body frozen with her hand on him. Damien opens his mouth, feeling his fingers shake before she finally lets go. He murmurs his next words quietly. “I knew I should’ve visited it was just…”

She steals the words from his throat. “Bad memories?” He doesn’t need to reply for her to understand. “Eric was the same way,” she mumbles. Her eyes are transfixed on Charlie. “He was so afraid of...everything when he came back. And there was a way that-” He watches her blink, noticing the small movements of her eyes as they flicker across the room, and the little motions in her brow as it pushes down on her face like a sheet of rain-soaked cardboard. “-he was so distant, and yet, he was always clutching onto us like we were all he had left.” Her eyes, soft circles of a shade of brown he hadn’t been aware existed until now, seemed to search his. 

She wanted answers, that was why he was here. 

 _By why him? She could ask Keith, or even Semby, and get just as good of a response._ “Was it like that for you too?”

It takes him a second to answer, and that second was enough for her to realize that he was faulturing. She opens her mouth to speak, but he waves his hand. 

“It’s fine,” he murmurs. Damien tips his head to the side. "Mrs. Davidson, what are you really looking for from me?"

She tries to speak, but bows her head instead. “I should've...” The widow presses her palm against an eye. “It’s just so...confusing…”

"I understand completely. Loss is...beyond complicated.” Damien offers her a smile. He doesn’t entirely mean it, but it’s not one that’s thrown away either. “But if you’re looking for advice, I’m not exactly the person to ask. I’m not the shining star return veteran who’s perfect in every way and still finds ways to serve his country.” Damien rolls his eyes, mostly to himself. “Or whatever patriotic-” his eyes flick to her son a few feet away, “bullcrap, they feed you there.” 

“I don’t want perfect,” she responds quietly. “I want stable. You’re a cop, right?” 

He nods, but cautiously. “A detective with the police department.” Damien narrows his eyes, noticing how he suddenly feels the lack of weight where the gun would normally sit at his hip. _Why is he on edge? This is a funeral, not a warzone._ His stomach clenches, and he moves his footing to keep himself upright. _Then why does it feel like open combat again?_ He gets the feeling that he shouldn’t be here, that he never should have come anywhere near here.

The woman is speaking to him, but her voice is muffled. He nods along with her words, but nothing is coming through. Panic begins to rise in his chest, and he fights to keep his breathing still. Damien feels his eyes flick everywhere and anywhere around her, trying to find something to grab onto. 

Her voice breaks through the muffle, and he catches the word 'Charlie' fall off of her lips. Damien turns his attention to the boy, steadying his mind against the wide strokes Charlie makes with his crayon. His vision comes back into focus, and he begins to register the world around him again.

“-want to say hi?” Damien catches the last of her words. Her gaze has fallen to Charlie, and unsure of how to reply, Damien just nods. The two of them walk awkwardly side by side, stepping up to Charlie. 

The boy doesn’t lift his head, but it’s clear he’s aware of them there. 

“Charlie, baby,” the woman speaks softly. “This is Damien, he worked with your daddy in the army.” 

Charlie looks up to Damien, his eyes, so similar in color to his mother’s, are set deep against the baby fat of his cheeks. He can’t help but remark at how much the boy really does look Davidson. It’s something about the curiosity in his eyes that gets him, it’s entirely unfamiliar on Charlie's face, but on the face of someone else...it’s a haunting memory. 

“Hi.” The boy’s voice is sharp, but not shrill. 

“Hi,” Damien returns the word with a smile. The boy watches him for a second before looking down at his paper. He continues to scribble, not paying a second thought to Damien. 

The woman moves to apologize, but Damien just speaks again. “What are you working on?” 

“Working from my book,” Charlie responds, still drawing. “I got it from a nice man who got it from my daddy.” 

“Oh, that’s fun.” Damien looks down from Charlie’s head to the paper, and feel the blood drain from his face. He tries his best to keep his voice calm. “Where...where did you get that?” 

“Is everything alright?” He can hear the worry filtering through her voice. 

“The book,” he whispers. “Can I see it?”

She lifts it from the ground, handing it to him as he pulls out his phone from his pocket. Damien opens his emails, finding the photos sent to him from Agnew. He felt his heart shudder deep in his chest.

“Ms. Davidson,” he turned his face to her. “I’m sorry, but I need to confiscate this.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “What, why?” 

“Because as of right now, this book contains information crucial to several homicide cases.” 

 

</3 </3 </3 </3 </3 </3

 

Lasercorn found the child entirely on accident while walking through the crowd. He’d worn his hat low over his head, slipping between the people as they moved slowly along. 

The boy sat alone on a bench outside the church, looking off wistfully into the distance. 

“Hi there,” he speaks lightly. 

The child lifts his head. “Hello.” He tips it slightly to the side. “Were you a friend of my daddy’s?”

“A very good friend,” Lasercorn lies. He likes lying, especially to naive children. A good lie, and a child will follow you anywhere. 

“Were you in the army too?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Can I take a seat?”

The boy scoots over. He points with his meaty child fingers at the flocks of magpies that decorate the trees of the graveyard around them. “I’m watching the birds.” 

“Pretty birds,” Lasercorn replies. “I bet they have pretty hearts.” The thought hungers him, but he does his best to still it. He won’t kill today, and he would never kill a child as innocent as the boy next to him. Today, he was here to push a set of dominos forward, but instead of letting them fall neatly in a line, he’d shove them. Let them clatter to the floor, just to send the Detective in those cute little spirals.

The sky crackles with the sound of thunder, and Lasercorn can feel the misty heat of rain press into his skin, his breath, his chest. He’s surprised to find that the boy doesn’t tense at the sound. 

“Aren’t you afraid of thunder?” 

“No,” the boy shakes his head. “There’s a lot more to be afraid of.”

Lasercorn finds this funny. “Like what?”

“Like venomous snakes, or killer sharks, or,” the boy leans in towards Lasercorn. “The monster in my closet that steals my socks and my action figures.” 

“There is a lot to be afraid of,” he marvels. Lasercorn turns back towards the birds. “Do you ever feed them?”

“No.” The boy pauses. “I don’t come here, ever. Except when my mom gets really sad, and she says we have to say goodbye to someone.”

“You never come to visit?”

“No.” The word seems to be spoken a lot from him. “Mom gets sad when I ask about them, so I don’t. I want to feed the birds. But mom says no.”

“My mom said that too.”

“She did?” The child looks up at him expectantly. 

“I always wanted to come here, visit my loved ones, feed the birds. She always told me no. But I’ve always been a troublemaker, and I didn’t listen.” 

“What’d you do?”

Lasercorn leans in, letting his voice drop. “I sliced out her heart, and let her bleed slowly out on the floor. Then I fried her heart in salt, and ate it, whole.” It’s a sharp admission, one that leaves the boy with wide eyes. The fresh look of fear passing across his face. A grin blooms across his own as he moves back, waiting to tell the boy that it was all a joke a second too long. He lets the fear stagnate, the true, horrible, bloody reality of life sinking into the child slowly. “I’m only kidding!” He laughs, waiting until the boy laughs along.

The boy goes quiet for a second. “What did you do then?”

Lasercorn pauses for a brief moment. “I grew up, and growing up lets you make your own decisions.”

The child’s eyes widened. “So you get to come here whenever you want?”

“Whenever I want.”

“I can’t wait to grow up.” The boy sits back against the bench. “Being a kid sucks.”

“It does.” Lasercorn feels his chest tighten, but pushes the feeling away. “It really does.” 

The two of them sit in silence before Lasercorn remembers why he’s here in the first place. 

“I have a present for you, your daddy told me to give it to you.”

“He did?” His eyes brighten. “What is it?”

Lasercorn pulls a book from his coat, handing it to the child. “You’ll have to see for yourself.” He leans in. “He told me it was a big secret.” The child is already digging through the pages before Lasercorn can get in another word. “Make sure you show it to everyone you can, I know that it’s very, very special.” 

“Charlie?” A voice comes from behind them, and Lasercorn stands. 

“Have a nice day, Charlie.” He moves along, ruffling the boy’s hair after he gets no response. 

Everything was falling into place. He would soon come face to face with his Detective, and then, the game would really begin. 

 


	4. Four

The air has changed from cool and misty to excruciatingly humid by the time Damien arrives at the warehouse. He spends nearly an hour decoding the message from the book before calling for backup and heading to what he hopes is the location.

In the distance, Shayne Topp sits against his pickup truck. A hand is thrown across his face to try and shield it from the sun, his collar buttoned up uncomfortably tight. By the look on his face, and the dark wetness of his hair, Damien guesses he’d roused the poor Detective from bed. He doesn’t feel bad, because,  _ what kind of person over thirty sleeps past noon? _

Damien steps out of his car, slamming the door behind him.

“Finally,” Shayne pulls himself away from the side. “What took you so long?” Damien passes by him, his work pad and pen in hand, the pages scribed with near-illegible black script. “Couldn’t you just get Miller to do this?”

“You were the closest to me.”

“And you know that,  _ how _ ?”

Damien turns as he passes the man, shifting his body to spin to look at Topp. “The barbecue last year. It was in your courtyard.” He faces the warehouse, pulling his gun from his holster. “You’re a detective, Topp. Act like one for once.”

The man grumbles something foul under his breath, but Damien doesn’t have time to quarrel with him. 

“Why are we even here anyway?”

“The Heart Eater left me a clue, and I just cracked it.”

“You’re still on this bend?” Topp mumbles more quiet words to himself.

Damien tips his head up as he surveys the building for an entrance. “Care to share with the class, Topp?” 

“No,” he growls. “And I already checked the building before you got here. There’s no way in besides through that padlock.”

The doors had been chained shut and locked with a simple key padlock. It’s sturdy, but nothing he couldn’t get through easily.

“We’ll have to wait for back up to get some bolt cutters, and even then-”

Damien lifts his gun, firing a single round at the padlock. The mechanism shatters, thumping to the gravel unceremoniously. 

“Or we could do that.”

Damien flicks his eyes to Shayne before looking back to the door. “We don’t have time for waiting around.” He tugs the chain off, opening the door with a hand, and pointing his gun inside. “Clear,” he murmurs. “Let’s go.” 

Shayne moves in front of him, pulling out his own weapon. Damien checks his papers, narrowing his eyes as they enter.

It’s hotter in here, and Damien feels his stomach, filled with cheap funeral food, flips and turns as the smell of death begins to choke him. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s bad,” Shayne waves a hand in front of his eyes. “It’s like someone’s cooking rancid meat.” He turns to Damien, “you think?”

“Let’s…” Damien forces himself to keep from gagging. “Let’s follow the smell.” 

The two of them move through the building. The smell only grows as they draw nearer to it. Damien raises his head to see the giant skylights that must funnel heat and sunlight into the building. 

“Oh, god,” he hears Shayne gag. “What the-”

The smell hits him stronger this time. Damien buries his nose in his collar. There’s a body lying on the ground in front of them, positioned perfectly. 

He steps slightly forward, peering over the body to see that the chest cavity has been ripped open.

“We gotta call this in.” Shayne steps back, retching. “Oh, that’s bad.” 

Damien pulls his phone to his lips. He dials in dispatch’s number, unable to draw his gaze away from the body. 

“Yeah, this is Detective Haas, badge number, 1128. We just found another body.”

 

</3

 

“I hate it when you’re right.” Captain Hecox stands beside him outside the warehouse. There's the sound of a camera flash, and the crunch of gravel beneath the shoes of CSI and his fellow officers.  “How did you find this one again?”

“I was at a funeral this morning. A kid there had a book to crack the code with him.” Damien pauses, trying to choose his words carefully. “I think the Heart Eater knew I’d be there.”

Hecox let out a sharp breath. “Haas, this is exactly why I didn’t want you taking this case. This bastard is already getting into your head.” His eyes were cold, the sharp blue of a storm bottled in glass, turbulent, strong, unforgiving, endless blue tinged with endless gray. “I’ve seen detectives go mad from this sort of thing. You’re one of the good ones, I don’t want you going down too.” 

“I’m glad for the concern,” Damien’s words are empty. “But, Captain, this is his seventh body. We need to make a public statement as the  _ city’s  _ police department. The one from Major Crimes won’t cut it anymore.”

“I don’t want the precinct to start filling up with nutcases who think they’re local heros for shooting the next creep they think is your so-called Heart Eater.” The Captain’s eyes search the area around them. 

“And you rather have him keep dropping bodies? Terrorizing the city?” 

“You’re gonna make me start smoking again, kid,” Hecox rolls his eyes. “Or give me grey hair, whatever comes first.” His eyes follow a passing CSI technician, before latching onto the next, until Damien realizes he’s finding any distraction from looking directly at him that he can. “We’ll figure something out.”

He shifts to stand in the Captain’s line of vision. “We have to. Soon.” The Captain presses his lips together, closing his eyes. 

“I know, Haas, I know. I’m just trying to prolong the inevitable.” 

“Seven victims, sir. He has a regulated M.O, he has the ability to kill without getting caught as of now, and he’s clearly trying to play games with us.” Damien felt his voice peak. “We have to give him the attention he wants, it’s the safest way to keep him docile.”

The Captain opens his mouth, shaking his head as he let a string of ‘no’ flood out. “That is the opposite of a good idea. We can’t let this, killer, think he’s got the upper hand.” He tightens his jaw. “And if you get any crazy ideas, I will suspend you faster than you can move to speak, you got it?”

Damien bows his head, nodding without really nodding. 

“Damien.” 

“Yes sir?” He tips his head back up to face the Captain’s. 

“Don’t make me regret letting you take point in this case.”

“Yes sir.” 

The man takes in a rattling breath, his lungs sounding like a deflating plastic bag. “Get back to work.”

Damien watches as the Captain walks away to talk to a hoard of press people. He lets his surroundings sharpen around him again, the ground beneath his feet, the warmth in the air, the faint smell of blood.

“Hey, Haas?” A voice comes from behind him. He turns to find Whittle behind him, quiet eyes, slightly worried expression. “We found something...inside the victim.” 

Damien raises his eyebrows, following her to the CSI truck. She pulls out a plastic bag, handing it to him gingerly. 

The thing is covered in blood, but it’s clearly a piece of paper. He squints, reading through it. “A recipe?” 

“Does it mean anything to you?”

He hands it back to her, shaking his head. “Not yet.” Damien gives her a nod before stepping back again. “Send me a photo of that.” 

The woman nods, and Damien turns away again. His head hurts, and his feet are aching, but with this sort of case, he knows it’ll be another few hours before he can finally go home to rest. Today was supposed to be his day off too, but, as always, duty calls. 

 

< / 3 < / 3 < / 3 < / 3 < / 3 < / 3 < / 3

 

He watches his Detective from the roof of the building adjacent to the warehouse. A pair of binoculars held close to his face, he tracks the Detective’s footsteps, timing them perfectly in line with his heartbeat. 

Never too quick, never too slow, but plodding on, endlessly. 

Lasercorn’s fingertips itch, and his body shakes, but he ignores it. That feeling of pride that swells with the tight expression on the man’s face, and the cold, deep, happiness that follows the blood that phantom stains his hands. 

The game has begun, and both of them seem to understand that now. The Detective proved a worthy opponent the moment he stepped out of the crime scene, and declared it, quietly, mostly to himself, and a little to the blonde bob-cut detective with the conventionally pretty face, that it was something off.

If his Detective managed to figure it out as quickly as he’d hoped, Lasercorn could finally start running, he could finally start feeling the Detective’s breath on his neck, and  _ god _ would that be good. 

He’ll need to plan his next moves carefully, a misstep, and everything he’d created would come crashing down. And the last thing he wanted was to live in a little box for the rest of his life.

He just needed the Detective to see the great plan of it all, he needed everyone to see.

But that was in due time. For now, he still had to wait. 

 


	5. Five

The photo on the computer has been staring him down for the past two days. Muddled in blood, but still clear, a recipe for a human heart watches him. 

Damien has tried everything, researching the type of paper, the ink color, the blood type of the victim. Nothing has clicked yet. 

His phone buzzes across the room, but he’s so tired, he doesn’t even try to move towards it. It buzzes again, and then a third time, before Damien finally slides out of his chair, and stumbles towards it. 

He blinks at the glow that nearly blinds him, scratching at the scruff on the side of his face before adjusting his glasses. 

Courtney’s name glows in his vision. Her message is short; simple and sweet.

_ Are you still working the case?  _

He types a quick reply.  _ Yeah.  _ Damien adds more when she doesn’t respond. _ Can’t crack it for the life of me. _

He settles back down into his desk chair, letting the sounds of the evening flow over him through the open window. The breeze is cold against his legs and his arms, bare where they aren’t covered by boxers or his stained precinct t-shirt. A street light flickers in the distance, but it's the only light that comes through the darkened room.

Damien can just make out his reflection in the mirror across from where he’s sitting. His face is dark, gauntly lit by the pale white light of the computer screen and the slightly blue hue from his messenger app. It’s strange to him how in the darkness, he can look so little like himself. One eye flowing over with darkness as the light tries, and fails, to curve over the bridge of his nose, and the other, a honey brown, warmed by the light casting shadows across the room. 

His phone buzzes again with Courtney’s reply.  _ Do you want me to run it through the precinct’s code cracker?  _

Damien sighs, he was a few steps ahead of her, apparently.  _ I already did. _

_ Ah shoot, well.  _ He sees her typing for a while, and sits back against the chair, watching the three little bubbles oscillate.  _ Do you want any help with it all? I could categorize stuff, look things over. This case it too big to work on by yourself. _

He gives her the same messages he’s been giving everyone.  _ I’ll be fine.  _

_ Are you sure?  _

_ Don’t worry about me.  _ He means to add something along the lines of ‘i’m fine on my own,’ or, ‘I work better when only my voice is rattling around in my head. But he doesn’t have the time.

Her message is short.  _ Suit yourself.  _

Fuck. 

The last thing he wants is Courtney mad at him, but in all honesty, he’s too tired to really care. Damien opens up another browser, typing in the address to the precinct. He falters, rubbing his eyes to try to move some of the sleep away. 

_ God _ he’s tired. 

At some point he considers giving up, pacing back and forth between the conclusions he’s already come to, never able to make anything stick. He thinks about messaging Courtney again, but by now it’s too late to try and explain himself. 

Damien takes part of her advice, manually searching through the precinct’s lists upon lists of the codes commonly used by gangs. For a while, he’s lost in names he’s never heard before, trying fruitlessly to find something,  _ anything _ , that makes some semblance of sense. 

Nothing comes. 

The clock on his computer is telling him that it’s two am, but it feels later than that to him. Like he’s been rooted to this spot since the dawn of time. In the moment, he thinks of old greek tragedies, and the stories of the underworld. The man that had to push a boulder up a hill, everytime he made it close to the top, he was forced to watch it topple back down. 

And yet, he could never stop. 

Damien couldn’t help but feel like that, cursed to always search for his targets, but never find exactly what he was looking for. 

And then this case came along. It was different in all the ways he’d dreamed it might be. A killer who was smart for once, one that wasn’t hiding in the way many others did. 

Damien wasn't surprised if the Heart-Eater had once stood directly in front of him and spoke his name. Somehow, he knew how to keep himself a secret. And Damien liked that.

He flips over to another page, letting his painfully slow wifi chug through the interface. Damien’s near the bottom of the barrel, scraping what’s left of registered codes.  _ One more page _ , he keeps thinking,  _ one more page and I’ll give up _ . He says it over and over again to himself, but it's been his mantra since almost seven pages ago.

And then he nearly misses it. His eyes glance over it for a second, dragging down until they leap back up. He reads the letters again and again to make sure there’s no mistake. 

_ RHS Code.  _

Damien fumbles for his copy of the recipe they’d found at the last crime scene. The top of it is labeled ‘Roasted Heart Steak’, and even in his tired stupor, it’s worth a shot. 

He spends the next hour trying different combinations of numbers and letters until finally,  _ finally _ , something legible appears. 

And it nearly makes his heart stop.

**_www.hellodetective/text/you’vefoundme.com_ **

He types the link into his computer, not quite sure what he’ll find, but his heart races nonetheless. Damien finds that it opens on a plain black background, with a smaller box in a lighter shade on the inside. A cursor blinks back at him, and with shaking fingers, Damien types out a small message. 

 

**Guest: Hello?**

 

It isn’t long before another message appears on screen to accompany his own. 

 

**< /3: I was wondering when you’d get here**

**< /3: I’m glad you’ve finally arrived**

**_< /Guest/> was changed to </Detective/>_ **

 

Damien can feel his body go cold as he lets his fingers fall across the keyboard. 

 

**Detective: Are you the one behind all of these killings?**

**< /3: ...**

**< /3: Do you admire my work, Detective?**

 

It dawns on Damien the situation he’s found himself in. He’s found the killer, and he could quite easily call someone to track the IP address, but this might be his chance to catch the Heart-Eater unaware. 

Damien has still yet to fully understand how the Heart-Eater thinks, but if he’s anything like other serial killers, all he wants is attention. And Damien has nothing better to do.

 

**Detective: You’ve really made this something interesting.**

**< /3: I’m glad.**

**< /3: But you don’t need to try and flatter or fluff me, dear Detective.**

**< /3: I don’t spook easy.**

 

_ He’s smart _ , Damien realizes too late.  _ Obsessive, and clearly delusional, but smart _ . He types out his reply a few times before finally settling on something.

 

**Detective: I apologize for the strange wording.**

**Detective: I just think I don't know what to make of you yet.**

 

For a second, there’s no reply, and Damien worries that he’s scared off his only chance. He makes himself something to drink, some coffee with a little more added to take the edge off of it all. When he returns, more messages wait for him.

 

**< /3: I’ve watched you Detective.**

**< /3: You’re different than everyone else.**

**< /3: It’s why you and I will play this game.**

**< /3: And why you’ll be the only one smart enough to be my foil.**

**< /3: Good luck, my dear Detective.**

 

There’s a long string of code beneath it, something Damien couldn’t untangle if he spent weeks doing it. He lets out a long sigh, before downing half his coffee and nearly retching at the taste. Damien sends a copy to Courtney and Agnew, and buckles in for another night without sleep.

 


	6. Six

Holding a box of donuts tightly in both hands, Damien tries to give Courtney a small smile as he sets them in front of her. 

“Peace offering?” 

She looks up at him, eyebrow raised, phone under the crook of her chin. Courtney holds up a finger, but pushes up the lid of the donut box, taking three before giving him a thumbs up and a nod. 

Damien sits down at his own desk with a light sigh, taking an old fashioned for himself before logging back in to his computer. There’s a message from Agnew, and a few return messages on cases, but the website that’s been on his mind for the last month, is still empty. 

The Heart-Eater still hasn’t spoken since their last messages from that very late evening. No bodies have popped up with the killer’s signature either, and Damien is still trying his best to not let himself relax. The killer’s plans are muddier than he’d like to accept, but Damien can tell that the Heart Eater is clearly planning something. He just has to prepare himself for it. 

Courtney puts down her phone with a clattering thud, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. 

“Another bust?” Damien asks through a mouthful of donut. She nods, wrinkling up her nose.

“Least I’ve got donuts, right?” 

He smiles, “so we’re cool?” 

Courtney raises an eyebrow. “Were we not?” 

“I don’t know I was a little rude when I texted you the other day, and I wanted to make sure that we were all good.”

Courtney throws her head back in a laugh, her hair falling back over her shoulder as she does. She shoves another piece of donut in her mouth. “You think too much,” she speaks through the bite. 

“Apparently,” Damien grins to himself. 

“Ooh Haas got donuts for us?” Topp appears from the interrogation hallway. He holds a folder in hand, his empty one reaching for the box.

Courtney slaps the hand away. “My donuts,” she growls humorously.

The man holds his hands up. “Sorry dude.”  

She pushes the box towards him. “Go nuts,” she turns over to look at Damien with a grin. “He’s the one that paid for them.” 

Shayne raises his eyebrows at Damien who just rolls his eyes and nods. “Yeah, yeah, you can have one.” 

He takes a donut, leaning against their desks as he eats it. “So,” he speaks through bites. “You catch any breaks with that killer you were working?” 

Damien takes a second to consider whether or not he should tell Topp the truth, and at the last seconds, decides to trust him. “He actually got in contact with me.” 

Topp’s eyebrows skyrocket. “Does the Captain know?” 

“Of course he knows,” Damien laughs. “He was the first person I told.” He pushes his laptop open, typing in the web address he’s memorized. The familiar grey screen appears, with no new messages from either side. 

Shayne leans forward, eyes flicking up and down through the words. “Well that’s concerning.” He turns back to Damien. “Has it gotten you anywhere?” 

“Agnew’s running it through cyber right now, but I don’t think he’s going to get much from it.” He feels his eyes unfocus. “This Heart-Eater, he’s too smart for that.”

“Well he’s bound to mess up at some point,” Topp flips up the top on the donuts. He takes another before walking backwards towards his desk, nearly toppling over a trash can. “They always do.”

“We can hope.” Damien rolls his eyes at Shayne as he grabs the wobbling trash can. It falls over anyway, spilling its contents onto the floor. 

“Dammit.” 

Damien grins, wheeling around back towards Courtney. Her expression is a little confused, her eyebrows cocked upwards, and her lips perking up in a small twist. 

“What?” Damien pats the corners of his mouth. “Do I have frosting on my face?”

“Since when were  _ you _ friendly with Topp.” 

“When he stopped being so much of an asshole.” 

Courtney throws a wadded up napkin at his face, which he narrowly dodges. “Seriously. I thought we had our pact to hate on him because of Oaker Street?” 

Damien lifts his hands in a shrug. “He actually came with me as backup for once. Rather than snottily throwing it into someone else.” 

Her eyebrows pop up again. “Really?” 

“Really.” He laughs, this time shrugging his shoulders. “Looked like I’d rolled him straight out of bed, too.” 

“Maybe he’ll actually start pulling his weight for once.”

“We can only hope,” Damien grins.

The two of them stagnate into silence, once and while asking for advice or the phone, passing it back and forth across their desks. 

“Haas,” Damien raises his head. He turns towards the Captain’s door, who stands in the doorway, a cup of coffee in one hand. “Can I speak to you for a moment?” 

“Of course.” Damien stands, shrugging to Courtney as she shoots him a confused expression. He follows Captain Hecox into the office, closing the door slowly behind him. “Sir?” 

Ian pulls a folder from his desk, setting his coffee down as he hands it to Damien. 

“I have a new assignment for you.” 

“What about-”

“You’re still on Heart-Eater, but I need you to shift your focus.” 

“Sir with all due respect-”

“It’s been a month, Haas.” He shakes his head. “As important as this case is, it’s not a productive use of your time.” 

Damien pages through the case, furrowing his eyebrows. “A missing persons case, is this a  _ joke _ ?” 

Ian bristles slightly, and Damien remembers his position. “Careful with your tone, Detective.” He picks up the coffee mug again. “And no, it’s not.” 

“But I’m Major Crimes, shouldn’t Missing Persons do their _job_?” 

“I got a call from a prominent congresswoman. Apparently the person in question is a friend of her daughter’s. She’s asked for the very best on the case, and you know how the precinct’s been looking in the eyes of the governor recently…” Hecox drinks his coffee slowly, his eyes flickering past Damien’s face and across the bullpen. “The last thing we want is to lose more favors.” 

“Understood sir,” Damien nods. “I’ll get working on this as soon as possible.” 

“Thank you.” 

He returns to his desk, slumping down into his chair as he tosses the file onto the table. 

Courney raises an eyebrow at him. “What was that about?”

“Hecox put me on a missing persons case.” 

She shakes her head in confusion. “That’s weird.” 

“Apparently it was a personal call from a congresswoman. Wanted a bigger focus on the case.”

She only nods sympathetically. 

The precinct begins to quiet down for the evening, and Courtney throws her bomber jacket over her shoulders as Damien frets over something on his computer. “Are you working late tonight?” 

“I think I will,” he groans. Damien stretches upward, popping the base of his spine. “No rest for us, huh?” 

“It’s shitty that Hecox is making you do extra cases alongside the Heart-Eater.” She pulls out her ponytail, pushing the hair tie around her wrist as she messes her hair with her fingers. “You’ve already got enough to worry about.” 

He shrugs, not sure what else to say. “Eh, it is what it is.” 

Courtney pauses for a moment, tapping her fingers on the desk. “I know you’ve got work, but could you spare like, a half hour down at the bar?”

Damien’s eyes flick to the clock, over to Courtney, taking in the hands-on-hip stance, and the grin that seems to glow with its confidence, before looking back to the clock. “Half hour.” 

The two of them are the last to leave the building after the regular stampede of bar-goers parades out ahead of them. They walk the street alone, listening to the sounds of laughter pouring out of the precinct’s favorite (and closest) bar, the  _ Medallion. _

Damien holds the door open for Courtney, and the two take a seat towards the back, where they can watch the action, but not get stuck in it. 

He notices Shayne sitting at the head of a group of beat cops, enthralling them in some gripping story that, sober, wouldn’t be great, but drunk, was legendary. The man’s cheeks are pink under the light, and he holds his bottle aloft, grinning as he caps off the end, and holds a muffled toast Damien manages to only catch a few words of.

A waitress brings them drinks, a beer for Courtney and an old fashioned for Damien, and the two drink, making conversation with each other and any cops or regulars that happen to pass them by with recognition. 

“Did you ever catch a lead on that Baker case?” 

“Hey.” She accents the word with a movement of her beer towards him. “Rule number one of bar time, we don’t talk about cases.”

Damien raises an eyebrow. “Than what would there be to talk about?” 

Courtney’s face scrunches up as she lets out a full belly laugh. “I keep forgetting how funny you are, dude.” She wipes under her eye and continues.  “So you and that girl, the one from data?”

“Um, yeah.” He nods, racking his brain. “Uh, Christine?” 

Courtney wiggles her eyebrows. “Christiiiiiiine.” She straightens up, the beer held tight between eager hands. “Did you, y’know, seal the deal?” 

Damien rolls his eyes. “No, we didn’t even go on a date, just some mindless flirting.”

“You two made out at the Christmas party!” 

“And you act like you didn’t do that with Topp.” 

Courtney’s eyes bug. “You were sworn to secrecy  _ never  _ to repeat that to anyone.” 

Damien laughs. “You said it yourself, I’m  _ very _ funny.” 

She hangs her head down humorously. “I want my lawyer.” Courtney’s head suddenly pops back up. “And hey wait, you’re deflecting. You never really answered my question.” 

“We both decided,” he grumbles with a sigh. “That it’d probably be better if we just stayed friends.” Damien shrugs. “Besides, it’s better to have a friend in data than an ex.” 

Courtney’s face pinches together. “Ooh yeah I get that. I dated Jimenez from cyber, and Risner from narcotics, and I dated Agnew briefly, but that one ended up okay.” 

“Y’know it’d probably be better if we  _ didn’t  _ date within the precinct?” 

Courtney waves her hand, laughing. “Less fun!” 

Damien pauses for a second, before starting again. “And wait, you dated  _ Jimenez _ ?” He sat back, folding his arms over his chest. “She’s  _ incredibly  _ out of your league.” 

Courtney bats at his shirt. “Hey!” She sips her beer, rolling her eyes at the floor, and then at him. “I’m not  _ that _ out of her league. And besides,  _ she’s _ the one that asked  _ me _ out in the first place.” 

He laughs, drinking the cocktail through a smirk. “Really?” 

“Really! We went to that bar with the good burgers on Harvey?” 

“Sullie’s?” 

She throws her head back. “Yes! Sullie’s,  _ damn _ do they make some good burgers.” Courtney wiggles her eyebrows at him, grinning wildly. “And some good mood setting if you know what I mean.” 

“Ugh, Miller, TMI.” 

Courtney giggles her way through the rest of her beer before ordering another one, while Damien decides to settle for water. 

The night stumbles on, with Courtney dragging Damien up on the bar’s shitty little stage to do karaoke, and Shayne somehow joining in, topped off with Sergeant Ovenshire stealing the show by trying, and failing, to dance on a table. 

They all shuffle out together, wobbling on drunk knees, barely supported by the arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. 

A tipsy Damien lets Courtney giggle against his shoulder, walking her to the cab he’s called for her. 

“Thankie Damey.” Her words press into the fabric of his shirt. She kisses him on the cheek sloppily as he opens the car door for her, helping her in. “Have a nice night!” 

“G’night Courtney.” 

Damien stretches as he watches the car drive off into the night. The night is still for a single moment, the clouds of a fresh storm beginning to line up at the edges of the city. 

And then he feels his phone buzz in his back pocket, and he’s ricocheted into reality, heading, shrugged shoulders, back to the precinct. 

  
  


</3 </3 </3 </3 </3 </3 </3

  
  


Lasercorn watches the captured struggles against their bonds, fresh fear flourishing across their face as they search the dark room for any suggestion of another person. They’re on the younger end, maybe twenty, dark hair, and dark eyes, wild and whipped open, their breathing is short and huffed in the silence. 

He’s bound their hands above their head to a drain pipe, and they shudder against them, the clinking and clattering of the handcuffs that hold them fast make his heart palpitate hungrily. 

He can practically hear their heart from here. Pounding in their chest, young and soft, and  _ delicious _ .

Lasercorn curls his hands over the bar of the platform he watches his subject from.  _ No _ . He has to push against this feeling. This one isn’t for eating, not this time around. 

If the Detective is to trust him, he needs to hand him a victory. 

As much as he wants to stalk down the stairwell, and cross the room, his hands shaking in anticipation as he smells the fear hanging tangibly in the air. As much as he wants to take his favorite blade to a shivering chest, and let it cut through muscle and sinew, pop and crack through bone. As much as he wants to rip open the pounding cage of fear, letting his fingertips pull back the skin and bones like he was ripping away at a rotting melon. He couldn’t let all of this work go to waste. 

He wouldn’t go hungry anyways, he had other hearts at his disposal if he ever began to grow famished. Pig hearts weren’t too difficult to come by, but only buying one or two at a time, people grew suspicious. Sometimes, if he was bored during the late evenings when he couldn’t sleep, the rats that scuttled across his bedroom would make sufficient playmates.

It’s how he’d learned he had a taste for a better type of flesh in the first place. 

It was only in recent years that Lasercorn had learned of the beauty of the human heart. Pig hearts were good, but mealy, and at some points, spongy like the pith of a bad orange. But human hearts, rich in their flavor, were something entirely more  _ beautiful _ . 

He shifts where he stands, and his most recent capture turns their head upwards. 

“Hello?” The voice is weak. “Is someone there?” 

Lasercorn stands stock still, watching, waiting. 

They search the rafters for any sort of figure, but seem to find themselves lost in the dark shapes. He waits for them to move their head down before he disappears through the door behind him.

He’ll need to contact his dear Detective soon. 

Because the fun’s just about to begin.

 


	7. Seven

Damien stands awkwardly outside the door of a Yuler Street mansion, reaching out tentatively to ring the doorbell for a third time. 

His tie is slowly choking him, but he doesn’t move to loosen it, and instead straightens his jacket. He turns to survey the neighbourhood, watching people mow their lawns as he studies the different architecture of the mammoth white, peach, blue, and yellow houses that make up the wealthy suburban part of the city. 

It smells like lawn clippings and the briefest hint of rain. If he knew any better, those two smells would’ve have been the only two that he registered, but the stereotype of the neighborhood gets the better of him, and the scent of pennys, coppery like blood, tickle his nose. 

Damien hadn’t known anyone living on Yuler Street until he began to befriend the lawyers and the directors of the city, who, more often than not, owned legacy homes. The ostentatious and grand monstrosities taking center stage in the middle of the street, their windows wide and watching, opening up to the world, while managing to keep their secrets at the same time. 

He turns again as he hears someone fiddling with the door handle. A prim woman with blond hair, an upturned nose, and a maid’s outfit stands in the doorway.

“Can I help you, sir?” 

“Um, yeah I’m Detective Damien Haas with the SPPD.” He moves his jacket to show off his badge. “I’d like to speak with Mrs. and Mr. Riviera about their daughter’s disappearance?” 

“Yes, of course.” The woman steps away, allowing Damien into the opulent entrance of the mansion. “Follow me please.” 

She leads him past the grand staircase and the black glass chandelier that hangs overhead, to a large sitting area, all pastel pink walls with crown molding and perfect trim. Rich ash grey couches are piled high with various pastel-hued pillows, all perfectly fluffed and formed. There’s a beautiful wood table in the middle of the room, most likely hand carved and imported from some far off land. A tea set lays on a silver dish on top of the table, but it looks as if it's only for decoration, and nothing more. 

“I’ll call for Mr. Riviera, he’ll be here in just a moment. Take a seat, make yourself comfortable.” The maid leaves, and Damien begins to survey the room more closely. 

The room is well decorated, but even the warm colors and bright pastels leave it feeling cold. He searches for anything that might give the room personality, and any identity to the people living in it at all, but he can’t find anything more personal than a handmade ceramic coaster that sits off to the side of the room. There are no family photos, or photos of anyone in general, no art, no plants, as if the furniture was taken out of a catalogue and plopped down with no thought at all. 

“Detective, how can I help you?” A voice speaks from behind him. A well dressed man in a suit stands at the opposite end of the room. He has rich brown skin and dark black hair streaked with grey. He can’t be any younger than 48, but he looks 35, with a perfect grin and posture to match. 

Damien finds himself faltering and moves forward, extending his hand to the man. “Yes, I’m here to talk to you about your daughter.” 

His expression quickly turns grave. “I’m glad you came when you did.” He shakes Damien’s hand, the palm of his hand calloused, but his grip isn’t firm. “My wife has been a wreck since Sylvia was taken.” Mr. Riviera moves across the room to sit down on one of the couches, and Damien does the same. 

“You know for a fact she was taken?” Damien raises his eyebrows. “I was under the impression that she was just missing.”

Mr. Riviera shakes his head. “My Sylvia is a good girl, she would never disappear without telling anyone. It’s not like her. When she didn’t come home for two nights in a row, her roommate called campus security, who called us.” 

“No one’s seen her since last Thursday.”

The man nods solemnly. “Unfortunately that’s all I know.” He wrung his hands, unable to entirely make eye contact with Damien. “But if I knew anything more, you’d be the first person I’d tell.” 

Damien watches the man’s body language, closed in and tightened, arms against his chest. It’s clear he’s afraid of something, something other than just his daughter’s safety. 

He sits forward, his arms resting on his thighs. “Tell me about Sylvia, what is she like?”

“An angel,” he smiles. “Always running and playing doctor as a child, but always so serious. She told me she wanted to study psychology ever since she was a little girl.” His smile slowly grows more pained. “She didn’t say it like that of course, she wanted to help people, it was always that, and then she wanted to understand them, and then…” He rubs his eyes, taking in a deep breath as Damien watches him bite back tears. “I just...why would they take her? Why now, I’m not-“ Mr. Riviera sits back, clearing his throat violently. 

“You’re not what?” Damien tries to connect the dots, but the picture still ends up blank.

For a second, he seems like he might have something to say, but whatever it is, he hides it well. “I’m sorry to waste your time, Detective, but I don’t believe I’m in the state to be answering questions right now.” His eyes are deep with the painful kind of sadness that digs in to your head, the chronic kind that rips you from the inside out. 

Damien wonders if this isn’t the first child that he’s lost. 

“Thank you for your time,” he murmurs softly. 

 

< / 3

 

“He’s hiding something but I can’t figure out what it is.” Damien pulls the car into the lot of the University. 

“What are your guesses so far?” Courtney’s voice is paged in through the aux cord that’s plugged into his phone. 

He shakes his head, “honestly I don’t even know where to start. Something about him just felt...off.” 

“Do you think he killed her and is trying to cover it up?”

Damien puts his car into park, disconnecting the phone and cradling it in the crook of his neck. “Could be,” he clicks off the car and shoves the keys in his pocket, “could be she really was kidnapped and we’ve got a ransom demand on our hands, and the kidnappers are telling him not to contact the police.”

“Makes me glad that  _ you _ got the case and not me,” Courtney sighs through the phone.

Damien locks his car, heading towards the front office of the University. “How is your case going, anything new?” 

“Nothing,” her voice peters out a little. “I’m just glad the Captain gave me the Wilmer case, or else I’d have nothing to do but wait for the DNA to get back from the lab, or dive through cold cases again. And those just make me sad, too many people that never got closure for their loved ones.” She goes quiet for a few seconds before perking up again. “Where are you now?”

“I’m going to talk to the roommate.” He switches what ear he’s holding the phone up to as he pulls open the door to the front office. “Hopefully she’ll be a little more helpful.” 

“Good luck,” Courtney chuckles before the line clicks off. 

Damien got the room number from the person at the front desk, and headed upstairs to find it. He was greeted at the door by a wide eyed girl with long black hair that fell straight across her shoulders. 

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Elizabeth Alderson?” 

“Um, yeah?”

“I’m from the SPPD-” 

She slaps her forehead lightly. “Of course, you’re the cop. I was wondering when you might be coming by.”

“Yeah, I’m Detective Damien Haas, can I ask you some questions about your roommate, Sylvia Riviera?” 

“Of course,” she steps aside, letting him move by. “I mean, I’m the one that made sure her disappearance was taken seriously.” Elizabeth takes a seat on her bed. “What do you need to know, I’ll answer anything.” 

“When was the last time you saw Sylvia?” 

“Last Thursday morning. Sylv normally comes home around eight to do homework and then heads to bed, she has classes early in the morning Friday, so I found it weird when she didn’t, but I didn’t think much of it because-” The girl pauses, her eyebrows pushing together as she crosses her arms against her chest.

“Because?” 

“I swore not to tell, because her parents are like, super strict, but…” Elizabeth sat up straighter. “She had a secret boyfriend, and sometimes they would…” She moves her eyes away from his face for a second, putting up air quotes with her fingers. “‘Hang out’ in his dorm room, and she would go straight to class from his place the morning after and come back to the dorm later, but when she didn’t come home that evening...I called him, and when he said that he didn’t know where she was either.”  

Damien nods, “you knew something was wrong.” He pulls out his notepad, scratching down the few details. “What’s the boyfriend’s name?”

“Uh, David Ruthe. He lives in,” her face contorts as she tries to remember, “Carther Hall, I don’t know which dorm though.” She shakes her head again, tightening her hands around her arms. “But I called campus security that next morning.” Elizabeth pauses for a second. “And I knew that they wouldn’t do anything about it, so I called my dad.” 

“Congressman Alderson.” Damien forces his grimace into a smile. “I’ve dealt with him before. I know him well.” He scratches down something else as Elizabeth leans forward, her knee bouncing.

“Anything else?”

“One more thing,” Damien folds his notepad closed. “How much do you know about the Riviera’s?” 

“A bit, I mean, Sylv and I have been friends since high school, I know her family pretty well.” 

“Did something happen to the Riviera’s? Something tragic that might’ve had them move homes recently, or at least shake them up?”

“Do you mean Jacob?” 

Damien furrows his eyebrows. “Jacob?”

“Sylvia’s brother.” Her breath is shaky. “He died before I was friends with her, and she was really shaken up by it, went to therapy for a while, but from what she told me, it _really_ got to her parents. I think her dad just switched careers recently, still trying to cope with it all.” 

Damien’s phone rings, and he pulls it up to see that Courtney’s calling. “Thank you Elizabeth, you’ve been very helpful.” 

“Please just bring her back.” 

He looks the girl up and down, feeling a pang in his chest. “I’ll try my best.” 

Damien picks up the phone as soon as the door is closed. “Miller, what’s up?” 

“I got bored and did some digging into the Rivieras, and apparently the eldest son of the Rivieras was murdered a few years ago.” 

“The roommate just told me about it, but she didn’t know more than that.”

“It’s not just that either, did you know that Gabriel Riviera used to be a cop?”

Damien stops in the middle of the hall. “I did not.”

“And not just that, but the way that his son was killed?” Courtney pauses. “There were lacerations on his chest, like someone was cutting away at his-”

“At his heart,” Damien is breathless. “Did you find anything else?”

“Just that Riviera was looking into two cases that went cold. He was apparently trying to connect them, but the two bodies weren’t in good condition, one had been at the bottom of a lake for seven months, and the other had decayed so badly that only a skeleton was left.” He can hear her clicking at her computer in the background. “But both had the same marks, deep enough to cut bone. Do you think that it could be... _him_?”

“With all of this information, I don’t know what to think, but I’m going to try to interview the boyfriend, but I doubt I’m going to get anything.” Damien starts walking again. “But when I get to the office, we’re going to have a chat with the Heart-Eater.” 

 

</3 </3 </3 </3 </3 </3

 

The Detective is moving quicker than Lasercorn had expected. He knows that the Detective is smart, but he hadn’t prepared for this sort of gumption. 

 

Detective: We need to talk.

 

</3: I’m always happy to talk to you Detective.

 

Detective: What do you know about Gabriel Riviera

 

Lasercorn sits back where he’s curled into a chair. The Detective has  _ already _ gotten this far? It makes his heart flutter thinking about the Detective getting this close. 

He feels his hand move up his chest to grasp at the hollow thundering that makes his fingertips shake. The fabric of his shirt twists beneath his fingertips, his breathing ragged as he moves to type out his answer.

  
  


</3: Now that’s a question

</3: Why are you asking?

 

Detective: Following a lead.

 

Lasercorn is itching to say more, nearly salivating at the thought.  _ Oh Detective, how you break me so _ . If  **He** had been here to see Lasercorn weak like this,  **He** would’ve probably made sure Lasercorn never thought of the Detective again, seeing him crumble like this. 

 

Detective: Did you kill Jacob Riviera and two other men seven years ago?

 

</3: So forward, Detective, and you flatter me.

</3: It’s an honor for it to have taken this long for you all to figure it out.

 

Detective: So I’m not the first that you’ve contacted?

 

</3: Jealous, Detective?

 

It takes the Detective an extra second to reply, and that’s enough for Lasercorn to lose himself. His hands cover his face as he peeks through his fingertips, grinning at the messages as he waits. The Detective,  _ jealous _ of someone else? It drives him wild. 

 

Detective: You played this game with Riviera?

 

</3: Attempted is a better word for it.

</3: He didn’t appreciate my reaction to his outlandish claims about who I was.

</3: I  _ told _ him to play the game. I  _ told _ him what would happen if he broke the rules.

</3:  **He’s not like you.**

 

The Detective’s name goes offline, and Lasercorn sits back in his chair, his skin feverish with excitement. He stands, pacing the room as he chatters at his nails, biting at them until the skin of his fingertips are red and raw, but he feels nothing. 

His neck suddenly prickles with paranoia, and he steps outside of his room, walking down the small metal staircase to where he can overlook the girl still chained to the drainpipe. She still hasn’t spotted him yet, but from how she looks whenever he nears, it’s clear she knows he’s there. 

The Detective will find her soon, and she’ll tell him of the looming presence of the dark mystery of the whole affair. Of the fear, ripe and raw that trickled in streams of blood down her wrists where the cuffs dug against them. 

Lasercorn will dream of the Detective, his face in the night, caressed by the colors of the evening, walking alone, thinking of him. 

He finds himself more excited at the thought of the Detective  _ thinking _ about him.  _ Dreaming about him _ . Lasercorn supposes that the Detective’s dreams were less...graphic than his own, but only a man who has dreamed of his adversary is willing to chase him to the fullest.

Lasercorn returns to his room, still finding his messages blank.

 

</3: Aw did I scare you off?

</3: Shame, I like you Detective.

 

Lasercorn raps his fingers on the table, picking at the skin on the back of his hand feverishly.  _ Why hasn’t he responded yet _ . He  _ has _ to respond, that’s a rule of the game. He doesn’t want to lose this one, not this quickly, not quite yet. Lasercorn has never been willing to wait before, and yet, he does. 

**He** taught Lasercorn better than this. 

But Lasercorn ignores the thoughts, and instead, fiddles with a knife on his desk. 

Another message appears.

 

Detective: I assume, then, that you have Sylvia Riviera?

 

</3: I’ve given you all the clues you need, dear Detective.

 

Detective: Which are?

 

Lasercorn grins, he leans back, scratching his stomach with his free hand before throwing the knife, hard, into the side of the wall. It sinks in an inch, the hilt of the blade wobbling ever so slightly.

 

</3: Look closer. You have everything you need.

_ </ </3 /> has gone offline _

 

The words he doesn’t type sting his tongue. Not because he feels less cocky than he thought he would, but because he thinks he might mean them. 

_ Good luck Detective _ . 


	8. Eight

“We need to consider the suspect highly dangerous.”

Damien stands before a board plastered with all the information he’s managed to gather. The entire bullpen watches him from chairs and on foot, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. 

“He has a confirmed nine kills, all of which, have been brutal.” He begins to point out the different cases, listing the names along with them. “Right now we believe that he has kidnapped Sylvia Riviera,” Damien stops for a second. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead closes it, changing his words. “Getting her home safe is currently our number one priority. We are still narrowing down where we believe he’s keeping her, but we’re gonna need all hands on deck.” 

Courtney takes her spot next to him, her jacket is slung over her shoulders, and her hair is messy, but kept together by a ponytail. “Haas, Topp, and I will be leading three separate search parties to the three locations we believe he’s hiding out. 

Damien nods towards three beat cops, “Vasandani, Palm, Finnerty, you’re with me. Bowe, Wrenn, Ikitanti, you’re with Miller, everyone else, rally with Topp. We’ll have SWAT backup if we need it, but the Precinct needs to come in out front if we wanna take any credit for this one.”

The bullpen breaks, with Damien leading them down to the armory to gear up. His locker is next to Courtney’s, and the two of them suit up in silence as they prepare themselves mentally for the raid to come. 

“You ready?”

“I think.” Damien pulls his vest over his head. 

Courtney snaps her own into place, “this could be really big for you. You might even get some good refs from the high ups for a promotion to Sergeant from this.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

Courtney tosses her jacket into her locker. “You don’t want a promotion.”

“It’s just more paperwork and less field time.” He shakes his head. “And I’d get too antsy with busywork, and all of the bullshit of the Policeman’s Coalition. Everyone knows it’s corrupt.” 

Miller’s eyes bug, “you can’t say things like that.” She grabs his arm, her voice dropped. “Especially not here.” Her eyes dash across some of the officers, before returning to him, and as their eyes lock, Damien feels her to loosen her grip. “Sorry,” she murmurs. 

“It’s fine. You’re just hopped up on adrenaline.” 

“I know, I know,” she waves her hands. “I just need, I need-”

Damien places a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from freaking out any further. “Hey, look at me.” She blinks up at him, and he lets her watch him for a second. “Let’s take four deep breaths, okay?” 

“O-okay.” 

“One.” Damien and Courtney breathe in together, and Damien listens to the air rattle through her chest. “Two.” Her shoulders relax slowly, drooping down as his hand softens over the muscle. “Three.” Courtney’s eyes flutter closed, her breathing becoming slow and steady. “Four.” 

Stiffly, he pats the sides of her shoulders as she eyes open again. “Better?”

“Much,” she sighs. Courtney seems to realize their proximity, and she pulls away, a little red. “We should probably go, our teams will be waiting for us to give orders.”

“Right.”

They grab the rest of their and rendezvous outside with their respective vehicles and teams. Damien swings the door open, hopping into the back with the three officers who sit, preparing themselves for the raid to come. 

Vasandani sits with her hand on her holster, her body is calm, but rigid, and her eyes flick to him before moving back to the ground. Palm’s hand goes for his gun at every noise, and it’s clear that he’s on edge. Finnerty is somewhere between the two, nervous, but more waiting for it to be over than anything else. 

Damien knocks on the front, and the van lurches out of the lot and towards the raid point. 

After meticulous research into Riviera’s past cases, Damien had narrowed his search down to three locations. 

The first is Topp’s raid pont, a small cabin that was located near where the first body had been discovered. It hadn’t been investigated much, but Riviera had marked it, so Damien made a note of it. He doesn’t think that they’ll find anything there, but it’s worth an honest shot, and it’ll get rid of Topp for a least a few extra hours anyway. 

The second is Courtney’s raid point, the warehouses down where the second body turned up. All they had to go on was location, but Damien hopes that she might find some luck on her way. 

The final spot is where they’re heading currently. The old plants and factories on the edge of the city. Once home to the bustling life of the late 60’s, the buildings have stood vacant for years. Every once and a while a new one will get bought up by some rich kid with their parent’s credit card, and another booshy restaurant or high rise penthouses would start advertising for themselves on buses in the city and billboards on the highway.

The light from the front dims a little, and Damien knows that they’ve dipped under the final bridge down to the long rows of empty buildings, covered in chain link fences that do about as much good at keeping people out as a tissue paper seatbelt would do at keeping people safe.

The van finally stops, and Damien steps out, motioning for his team to come after him. 

When he’d done some digging, Damien had found that Riviera had filled a report saying that he’d discharged his weapon at an assailant just before he’d resigned from the SPPD. The lead is somewhat thin, but it’s the best they have.

The van comes to a stop, and Damien steps out first, signaling for everyone else before knocking on the side of the van and letting it go. They watch it leave before Damien moves into position. He pulls open the side door, letting the other three in before spreading out across the empty factory floor.

“Search every inch, call if you see anything.” 

Damien takes a rickety set of stairs up to a higher level, watching three flashlight beams bend across the floor. There’s a small sound that comes from the rafters, and Damien moves silently towards it, trying to make out something in the darkness. For a second, it looks like a figure standing in the shadows, but things shift into focus as he nears, and he’s only left disappointed. 

He takes a few turns, trying to understand the maze of pipes and walkways that make up the interior of the building. The whole building looks the same everywhere he goes, the same smells, the same sounds, the same pale grey light refracting in from the windows covered in years of dust and grime.

Damien hears another noise, and this time, sees a light coming around the corner. He follows it, tracing along the side of the catwalk. His heart quickens as he swears he sees someone moving around inside. 

Then there’s a sudden bang, too quiet to be a gun, but to loud to not be anything at all, and Damien finds himself running down the length of the catwalk, the metal squeaking beneath him. Out from the door, a figure steps into the backlight, and Damien’s body goes cold. He can’t make out a face exactly, but he knows exactly who it is standing there. 

The two of them don’t move, Damien’s gun training in on the center of the chest of the Heart-Eater. 

“Hello Detective,” his voice is so soft. The way his tone fluxuates on his words, he sounds as if he’s smiling. “You’ve done well.”

Damien raises the gun, “Stand down, Heart-Eater, you’re under arrest for the murder of-”

“Oh now, don’t be like that.” The figure steps towards Damien, and he tightens his grip on the trigger of his gun. His head is screaming at him,  _ just shoot him! _ “I don’t love the name, but it’s...well it’s something.” 

“Don’t come any closer, I will shoot you.” 

“No you won’t.” The Heart-Eater moves his head slightly to the side. “Look at you Detective, you’re shaking. Terrified.” Damien can hear him smile wider. “It’s adorable.” 

Damien lets the weapon dip just slightly, feeling his feet falter beneath him. He finds his voice somewhere in the emotions that strike through him. “Sylvia-”

“She’s fine,” the words are final. “But she doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of our game. None of my pawns do. None of your pawns.” The Heart-Eater shakes his head. “And I know, you think you’ll catch me today, that I won’t leave this building, let alone alive.” Damien can’t see his eyes, but he can feel the strength of his gaze brushing across his skin. “But you’d be wrong. You’re going to let me leave. Willingly.” 

A voice comes over the of the catwalk. “Haas is that you up there?” 

All at once, both people react. Damien lifts his weapon into the air, firing it at the Heart-Eater, but missing by a mile.

The man moves with inhuman speed, lifting himself over the side of the catwalk and falling down into the darkness below. Damien aims into the shadows, firing blindly into the ground, but it’s clear that Heart-Eater is gone. 

“FUCK.” Damien leans into his radio. “I saw him, he escaped, well-” He looks around, suddenly having no idea where he is in the building.  _ It was a trick _ . 

“Find the nearest exit and get the vans to surround the building, and do it now, we can’t afford to lose him now.” 

Damien follows the catwalk along where the Heart-Eater had come from, finding that the light came from a small dusty room. He falters again, seeing a computer at the end room. It glows with a black screen, the same one Damien had sent messages on the previous day. 

There’s an outgoing message to him on it.

 

_ </3: I’m glad you missed Detective. _

_ </3: Though I should ask. _

_ </3: Did you miss on purpose? _

 

Damien’s eyes flick up to the clock in the corner of the screen, the messages are time stamped from minutes ago. They were sent from before the two of them had even spoken. _How the hell had he known that he’d shoot?_ _And more importantly-_

_ “Hello?” _ A muffled voice calls from outside the room. Damien follows it, walking along the catwalk that encircles the small room, finding another stairwell down to a darkened ledge.  

“Hello?” Damien calls down into the darkness. “Sylvia? Are you down there?” 

“Yes!” A voice cries desperately from down below. 

“I’m from the SPPD.” Damien tries to ignore the strangeness in his stomach he feels. How his mind circles the other voice that called to him from the darkness. He opens his mouth, but the words feel dry on his tongue, “I’m here to help you.” 

 

</3

 

“It’s not your fault.”  Damien and Courtney watch Sylvia as she sits on the back of the ambulance, giving her statement to one of the officers, a blanket hanging over her shoulders. “He must’ve just caught you off guard.” 

“I froze Courtney, I saw him and I froze.” Damien shakes his head. “It was like all of me was stuck in that moment. Like  _ I _ was waiting for him to freeze with me, but he didn’t. He was so unafraid of everything going on around us.” He pushes his head into his hands. “I just don’t...I can’t think right, he’s all in my head.” 

Courtney bites the inside of her cheek. “I wish I could tell you that he’s just like any other person you’ve caught before, but...”

“It feels different, right?” Damien pulls himself from the slouch he’s slowly falling into. “Like instead of us analyzing him, it feels like he’s analyzing us, and every time I get one step ahead it’s like he collapses it all in on me.”

Courtney doesn’t say anything for enough time to make him start to spiral again. “You need a break.” Her words are solid. “This thing’s driving you nuts.” 

“I don’t need a break, I need to keep at it.” 

“Then you’re doing exactly what you’re saying, you’re letting him into your head. He probably thinks that you’re gonna go hard after him now.” She squeezes his shoulder, and Damien catches her eyes. “Throw him a curveball.”

Damien lets a beat cop drive him home, and when the car pulls up to the curb, Damien considers just telling them to turn around and take him back to the precinct. Courtney’s words hammer hard into his head, and instead, he orders a pizza and collapses into the couch with his cat.

He pushes the Heart-Eater out of his mind as far as it’ll go, but everything reminds him of the soft voice that spoke to him beneath the coat of shadow. 

Damien flicks through the channels on tv, scratching between Zeldjya’s ears. She purrs as she nestles deeper against him, and he smiles as he decides on some sort of home renovation channel. “Sweet beast,” he murmurs. 

The doorbell rings, and Damien tries his best to move Zeldjya without disturbing her, but she still hops off the couch with him and winds around his legs as he grabs cash for the pizza. He manages to grab his wallet without Zeldjya knocking him over, and opens the door to find a bored looking teenager holding two pizza boxes. 

“Here you are sir,” the boy flashes him a fake smile. 

“How much do I owe you?” Damien opens his wallet. 

“Uhhh it says on the receipt that it was paid for online.” The kid looks at his copy of the paper before handing it and the boxes to Damien. 

“Oh,” Damien feels a strange feeling creep up his back. “I only ordered-” He stops himself, trying to shake off the feeling as he reads the receipt. “Nevermind.” He hands the kid five bucks and bids him a good night, not taking his eyes off the boxes. 

The top box is his pizza, onion and bacon, a pizza that was always his dad’s favorite, and became his as he got older. The second, Damien opens slowly and carefully. The pizza looks completely normal, red sauce, cheese, and some sort of meat. On the roof of the box, there was a message waiting for him.

 

_ Because you were sweet to me, I’ve decided to be sweet to you. _

_ Enjoy your pizza Detective, an old favorite of mine. _

_ Chicken was always my favorite, especially if it was just a little raw. _

_ I’m glad you want this game to continue too. It’s nice to see others enjoying things. _

_ You looked very lovely today, by the way, thought you should know. _

_ I’ll be seeing you soon. _

 

_ Yours,  _

_ The One Who Dines On Hearts </3 _

 

</3

 

Courtney’s eyes bug out of her skull. “He sent you a pizza?” 

“A pizza.” Damien lowers his voice. “We can’t let anyone else know about this, especially not the Captain. If it’s true that the Heart-Eater really sent this, that probably means he not only knows where I live, but has access to my computer.” 

She held his phone gently, reading over the message that he’d taken a picture of. “Did you eat it?” 

“The pizza?” Damien shakes his head. “I didn’t want to chance it.”

“You think his ultimate goal is to hurt you?” Courtney leans back in her chair, “I mean if we look at Riviera…”

“I don’t think eating something sent to me by a serial killer is good on principle.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Courtney sighs.

“I’m probably gonna need to scrub my computer clean and move, huh?” 

“Probably.”

Damien rubs his temples. “And my current place has been perfect for Zeldjya.” He looks up at her, and from the look on her face, he can tell how tired he looks. “This case is really taking it out on me.”

“Hey, uh, Haas?” He turns to see one of the techs, Spencer, walking towards him.

Courtney turns off his phone, pushing it into her back pocket as he closes his laptop. “Agnew, I’m a little busy, can this wait?” Damien’s brain feels like it’s going to explode. 

“Actually I think this might help, I set up some camera traps at the power plant you went to and something just set it off.” Agnew’s face is red as he spits out the words as quickly as possible.

He turns to Courtney. “Cover for me.” Damien is out of the bullpen before the man can say another word. The siren on his car blares as he tears through the city streets, only turning it off when he reaches the bridge down to the power plants. 

He’s running out into the clearing the second he sees the car parked next to the closest door to the room he’d found the computer in. The door is opened wide, the police padlock pulled away and left on the ground.

Damien’s weapon is drawn as he softens his footfalls, listening to quiet sounds coming from where he’d found the abandoned room. He ascends the stairs, praying that they won’t give way underneath him as he pulls himself against the wall next to the door. Damien can hear someone moving around inside, and his heart thunders so loud in his chest that he wonders if it really is echoing through the room, or if it’s just the humming in his ears. 

He draws in a breath, stepping towards the door. Inside, he can see a figure crouching in the corner, and Damien loses his voice. 

The figure straightens, back cloaked in expensive black wool dappled with dots of white. Their head is completely bald, nothing but smooth dark skin. 

“I was wondering if you set up traps.” The figure’s hands raise into the air as Damien seems to remember where he is. “You can put your gun down, Officer,” he waves his hand. “I don’t believe I’m who you’re looking for. We’ve both just missed him.” 

Damien swallows, his brain taking a second to connect. The voice is different. His mannerisms are different. “You’re not the Heart-Eater.”

“That I am not.” The voice is thick and soft, but deeper than that of the Heart-Eater’s. “Have you put your weapon down yet?” 

Damien lowers it slightly. “Tell me who you are first.”

The man turns, hands still held in the air. His features are smooth, except for the small dappling of facial hair around his chin and upper lip. “Amra Ricketts, psychic investigator extraordinaire.” 


	9. Nine

The man sits at the table, eyes locked on Damien’s through the pane of one way glass. 

“His identity checks out, along with his alibi.” Courtney appears in the doorway, holding a few pieces of paper. “His name really  _ is _ Amra Ricketts, though he’s better known as ‘The Flitz’.”

“Sounds like some weird new superhero.” 

“Kinda, actually, he also really is a psychic, which is where the alibi comes in. He’s been out of the country in England for a month long psychic conference, and couldn’t have committed at least three of the murders. He’s probably not our guy.” 

“I know,” Damien murmurs, arms locked against his chest.

Courtney’s is almost surprised, “you do?” 

“Uh, yeah,” he clears his throat. Damien still hasn’t told Courtney the full story of what happened back at the power plant. She knows that he’d frozen, that he was locked in place by sheer fear. What she still doesn’t know, is that the two had spoken. As much as Damien trusts Courtney… “Of course it’s not him, I mean, look at him.” It takes him just a second too long to catch the ground under his feet. “The Heart-Eater’s cocky, but he’s not like this guy. This guy is too polished, he’s too clean.” 

He looks to her, and despite her slightly confused expression, she seems to buy the lie. “Oh-kay?” Courtney turns her head back to the glass, nodding towards the man. “I still don’t understand though, how could he have known where that place was  _ unless _ he was connected to the Heart-Eater somehow? He’s apparently psychic, but,” he can practically hear her rolling her eyes, “that’s all horseshit anyways.” 

“Right,” Damien nods. 

She pauses for a second. “So are you gonna go question him?” 

“Yeah.” Damien blinks slowly, the faintest pain in front of his eyes beginning to grow before he rubs it away. He really needs to get some sleep. “Do you have the papers?” 

“Yep.” She hands them to him without looking over at him. 

“Then let’s see what this psychic knows.” 

Damien leaves the room, crossing the small stretch of hall to the interrogation room. As he opens the door, he’s surprised to find that the man is already watching him. 

“Finally,” his voice is sweetly feline. His lips draw back into a wide grin, “I was wondering if you’d forgotten about me.” 

“Mr. Ricketts-”

“Please.” Honeyed and warm, Damien can’t help but stop to let him speak. “Call me Amra.” He threads his fingers together, pressing the pads of his forefingers against one another. “But here’s the true question, what should I call you?” 

“Detective Haas would be preferable.” 

“So formal,” Amra gave a brief laugh. “But I suppose we all start somewhere.” 

“Why exactly were you in the den of a serial killer when I found you last night?”

Amra sits straighter, his whole face lifting. “Is that where I was?” He lifts a hand, tapping an extended finger against his lips. “I was wondering why my intuition took me somewhere like that.” 

“Intuition?”

The man splays his hands out, “my gift.” 

“You mean the fact that you claim to be psychic?”

Amra’s smile is warm, but worn, and it’s clear that he’s heard this often. “I see you’re a skeptic, Detective Haas.” His finger bounces along as he shakes it in Damien’s direction thoughtfully. “Of course, most are before they become true believers.”  Damien doesn’t respond to the question, which only seems to make Amra more eager at the prospect. “Should I demonstrate?” 

“I’d rather if you didn’t.” 

Amra locks his eyes on Damien’s, and Damien feels as if he can’t, or shouldn’t, look away. “You live alone, well not exactly alone, you have a cat who you love more than some of the people in your life. One of your parents has passed over, and the other is living a fulfilled life in…” Amra narrows his eyes, searching Damien’s. “California. A bit farther than you wanted, but you’re happy for her. You had a longtime girlfriend, but she broke your heart, and left you more that a little broken inside. You became a cop because you wanted to protect people, you stayed a cop because found you liked the thrill a little too much-” He folds his hands back and forth, shuffling his fingers as if they were playing cards. “And now you’re chasing after the same demonic force as I am. Except,” he chuckles, “you think he’s still human.” He cocks his head to the side. “How did I do?”

“About as well as any observant person might.” Damien studies Amra carefully, but he can’t seem to find the tick that most ‘psychics’ have when someone calls them out as a fraud. This man sat perfectly still, smiling down at Damien with what he could only decide looked like fervent glee.  _ Either he’s a psychopath who uses a voice modulator and actually  _ is _ the Heart-Eater, or he’s a psychopath who really does think he’s a psychic _ . 

Damien decides to indulge him just a little. If anything it might get him more information. “You got most of it right. I do live alone, with my cat. My dad died a few years ago, my mom moved to California for her allergies. I did become a cop because I wanted to help people, but I stayed because there’s no other job that works your mind quite like this one-”

Amra introjects smoothly, “one could say that’s an addictive thrill.”

“One could, but one would be wrong.” Damien replies cooly. “And I’m chasing down this killer because he deserves justice for what he’s done.” 

“Of course,” his reply is slick. 

“But you got one thing wrong.” 

“Did I?” 

“It wasn’t a girlfriend.” 

“Ah,” Amra tips his head back, letting his mouth exaggerate the word. “I see.” 

“So what sort of explanation are you going to give me as to why you were found in the middle of a crime scene, possibly tampering with evidence?” 

“Easy,” the man smiles. “The spirits told me that’s where I had to be, so I went there.”

Damien sucks in a breath sharply through his nose, pressing his lips together. “Alright-”

“It’s no joke, Detective. I left a very important conference in England to pursue this, because my guides told me that a situation of universal importance needed my guidance.” His folded hands return to the table, and he tips his head slightly. “They told me I had to return to the states, and return I did.” 

“And let me guess, the minute you stepped onto solid ground, you were hit with a vision of the room.” Damien lets his voice tip-toe into a slight mocking tone as he shakes his hands for emphasis.

“Joke all you’d like,” Amra sighs, “it’s not like I haven’t heard it a hundred times before already. And no, it wasn’t a vision. It was an address, I simply followed my intuition, and found myself in the room. I’d been wandering around for at least an hour or two before you found me.” His expression lightens just slightly. “I wasn’t looking for that room, the room found me for a reason. It was destiny that we met, Detective.” 

“Can anyone corroborate your statements?” 

“I suppose the car rental place, perhaps, and the spirits of course, but I doubt you’d believe them.”

Damien stands, “then we’ll be holding you until we can corroborate your story. If it doesn’t check out, you’ll be charged with the kidnapping of Sylvia Riviera.” 

“Good luck with that,” Amra only laughs. “You and I will work together on this Detective, the fates have willed it so.”

Damien pushes the door open, rounding the corner to step back into the viewing room, where Courtney still watches Amra intently. 

“He’s good,” she murmurs. Courtney lifts her head just slightly towards him, her eyes never leaving Amra’s face. “He said some things about you even I didn’t know.” 

Damien grows red, “and I’m hoping you’ll keep all of that to yourself.” 

“Of course,” her eyes flick to his. “Lips are sealed.” Damien moves to stand in line next to her, the papers in his hands held tightly between his fingertips. “So what now?”

“I guess we get a warrant for the records from the car rental place, and then I want to look deeper into the Rivieras.” He chews slightly on his bottom lip. “I still don’t understand why he’d ‘chosen’ the two of us to play his game. He doesn’t seem like the type to draw from a hat at random.”

Courtney’s attention is fully on Damien now. “You think there’s a link between you and Riviera?”

“A link between not just me and Riviera, but me, Riviera and the Heart-Eater. There  _ has _ to be a reason he latched onto both of us. We either worked together on a case, or worked on similar cases that drew the same crowd, cases that the Heart-Eater  _ had _ to be involved in.” 

“What do we do with him?” Courtney gestures to Amra with her chin.

“We hold him for 24 hours, and if nothing pops, we’ll have to let him go.” Damien shrugs, “he hasn’t asked for a lawyer either, which is odd.” He turns around, grabbing for the door handle. “Feel free to question him, but I doubt you’ll get anything interesting.” Damien steps out before returning back in. “On second thought, have Topp interview him, and see what weird shit he ‘psychics’ about him.”

“Oh I love that idea,” Courtney grins.

“Don’t abuse it too much.”

“You know I will!”

Damien smiles to himself as he returns to his desk, powering up his computer to find his email open in one tab, and the message board to the Heart-Eater open in the other. He stares it down for a few seconds, unsure of the itch in his brain telling him to send another message to the Heart-Eater.

Damien ignores it, instead focusing on his email. He returns a few inquiries made through the new program that allowed the public to directly contact him. Most of them were simple fixes, but others he flagged to send to Topp to deal with. 

A sent email catches his eye, and Damien reads through it quickly, narrowing his eyes. Agnew had emailed him about some files, but they’d never gotten sent. From the paraphrasing, they seemed to be focusing on Riviera and the earlier cases.

The bullpen is quiet, and Courtney and Topp are most likely busy with the psychic, so Damien makes the small trek down the stairs to the second floor. The place is more dimly lit than upstairs, with desks filled with giant computer monitors and huge processors that are hidden in cabinets connected by wires. 

Boxes of case files are strewn everywhere as Damien tip-toes his way through the Data department, and heads towards the desk of Spencer Agnew towards the back. Fluffy brown hair pokes out behind piles of papers and the glow of at least three monitors. The clicking of keys behind slowly ceases before a pair of eyes widen at him.

“Haas?” He moves farther up, still somehow confused by Damien’s arrival. “It’s not usual for the guys like you to come down here.”

“Guys like me?” Damien raises an eyebrow jokingly. “We’re all one precinct right?”

“Yeah,” Spencer rolls his eyes. “But you’re a jock and I’m a nerd,  _ that’s _ what I was saying.”

“It’s cool Agnew,” he laughs. “I’m just here for a file that never got delivered upstairs.” 

Spencer furrows his eyebrows. “I had all of the things you asked for sent up a few days ago. They were all delivered, I made sure they got sent up by someone myself.” He leans forward towards his computer. “What was missing?”

“Uh,” Damien wracks his brain as quickly as possible. “I think it was the 3, no, 4, box?” 

Spencer checks something on his computer, frowning slightly. “It should have arrived with everything else, they all went in one shipment.” 

“Odd,” Damien notes. He circles the table, and much to Spencer’s chagrin, proceeds to read over his shoulder. Damien points to a pair of initials, “who signed for this?” 

“Uh,” Spencer cocks his head to the side. “...Nobody here has those initials.” 

“LC.” Damien’s voice echoes throughout the data department, an eerie hush settling over the room.

Spencer breaks away at the silence with words that fall like pin drops in Damien’s ears. “Do you think it’s him?” 

“Pull up all of the camera feeds from the day it was signed for.”

“I’m not sure if-”

“Just do it, Agnew, okay?” 

“Okay,” he murmurs. Spencer’s fingers fly across the keyboard, entering in numbers and codes, before several cameras appear on screen. He flicks through days of camera footage, before finally falling to a slower speed. Damien scans the cameras, watching for the five boxes sitting on Agnew’s desk to be taken. 

“There, slow it down.” Agnew taps a button twice, and Damien watches as a figure shaded by the angle of the camera takes the boxes and sets them on a cart. “Follow that guy through the tapes.” 

He studies the footage with increasing worry as the more and more of the tapes they watch, the more fear begins to creep up Damien’s back as he realizes that the man knows exactly where all of the cameras are, and how to avoid every single one. “He knows the building.” Damien feels like his lungs are trying to leap out of his throat. 

The cameras end up in the bullpen, and become much more restricted, and Spencer struggles to keep him entirely on tape. Damien recognizes his desk as the cart holding the boxes comes to a stop next to it. The man pulls a box off of the piles and carries it in front of his face. 

“Dammit,” Damien hisses under his breath. “He was careful.” He straightens from where he was standing, looking towards the stairwell. “Thanks for your help anyway, Spencer.” 

Vasandani appears at the other end of the hall. “Haas!” Her voice, surprisingly booming in the small space. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

He moves to meet her, but something Spencer mumbles stops him. “That’s weird…”

Damien whips back around. “What’s weird?”

“The tapes, they cut off right here.” He leans back, playing the clip of the man leaving the building out the front doors. 

“And what’s weird about that? They seem like they’re still playing.” Damien narrows his eyes at the film, which still shows the busy lobby down below them.

“No I mean there should be another tape after this one. There’s a camera at the front of the building to account for everyone who comes in an out of the building. It should let me switch to it normally, but for some reason, it’s just...gone.” 

Damien leans forward again. “But that’s impossible.”

“Haas,” he lifts his head to see Vasandani standing in front of Agnew’s desk. “You need to-”

“Vasandani, I’m kind of in a pinch here.” He turns back to Agnew. “There’s a way to get that footage back right?” 

“I’d have to work at it, and if they were careful-”

“Haas this is urgent.” Vasandani interrupts

“Monica, I don’t have time to look at case files for you right now.” Damien finds his voice raising higher than he’s comfortable with. As he catches Vasandani’s eyes this time, he shrinks back at her expression, sharp and angry, eyes blown wide and eyebrows pulled down, only to realize that she’s only mirroring his expression. 

“The Captain needs to speak with you. Right now.” 

“Of course.” He speaks softly. Damien turns back to Agnew. “Figure this out, and call me when it’s done.” He turns to Vasandani. “The Captain needs me?”

“Apparently,” she responds dryly.  

The two of them ascend the stairs together in silence. “Did he say what this is about?” 

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head. “But I’d assume it has something to do with the suspect you just picked up.” 

“The fake psychic?”

Monica eyes him with an eyebrow raised. “I wouldn’t discredit him that easily. Courtney said that he nailed you like a butterfly with a thumbtack, stuck you right to the wall.”

Damien lets out a small note of a laugh. “She said that?” 

"She did."

The two of them broke off at the top of the stairs, Monica heading back to her work, and Damien towards the Captain’s office. He knocks on the door before entering, stepping in to find the Captain in front of the window.  

“Haas,” he turns around. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a psychic in the building?”

“I wasn’t aware that I needed to.” He pauses for a second, trying to piece out the Captain’s frame of reference, but Damien found himself caught like a gnat in the spider-webbed gates behind Hecox’s eyes. “Can I ask why?”

“I’ve been trying to get a psychic for the precinct for years, but no one’s ever delivered.” 

Damien laughs, “you’re kidding, right?” 

“I’m not, Detective Haas.” He tips his head slightly upward, his eyes following Damien’s as he moves to sit in the leather chair pushed into his desk. “The 38th has a psychic, and their closure rate is 20% higher than ours.”

“Correlation-”

“Not causation, I know.” He nods, “But we need to get our numbers up before quarterlies. And if hiring this psychic will do the trick, then I’m willing to look superstitious spiritualist for it.”

“Sir, with all due respect, this is a bad idea.” Damien waves his hands about. “They’re fakes! They’re no better detectives than you or me.” He turns back, waving in the direction of the interrogation room. “And this guy is no exception. He’s just another phoney looking for his 15 minutes of fame.” 

“This is final Haas,” he lifts his hand into the air in a fleeting gesture. “I’ve already offered him the job-”

“You  _ what _ .”

Hecox shakes his head slowly, “will you ever learn the definition of respect, Haas.” 

“Sorry sir.” Damien closes in on himself.

“As I was saying.” Hecox blinks slowly at him from behind his glasses. “I’ve already offered him the job, and he’s accepted. He’ll aid you on your case, and you two will be partners for the time being.” 

“Partners?”

“I wanted this case closed and out of the media weeks ago, and you’ve managed to swirl it up into a shitstorm Haas, yes, you’re going to be partners.” The Captain lets out a long slow breath. “Good luck. Don’t let me down.” 

Damien leaves the Captain’s office with a hushed goodbye, lifting his head from the floor as he headed out into the bullpen. His mood sours increasingly as a smiling Amra sits on his desk, waiting for him.

“Detective,” his smile is beyond bright. “Looks like I was right after all, eh?”

 


	10. Ten

“Haas!”

Damien pushes through the crowds of people, but he can feel the man on his heels. He presses his lips tightly together as he feels a shadow fall in line with him. The gangly form of Amra appears at his side, all tall and clothed in vibrant color beneath a cloak of grey wool. 

“Thought you were going to leave me,” he smiles sharply down at Damien. 

“Tried to,” Damien grumbles back.

Amra flicks his head away from Damien, “oh, don’t be sour.” His face returns to look down on Damien’s. “We’re a team now, Haas. Fate wants it this way.” Damien flicks his badge towards the beat cop at the edge of the yellow tape. “And you can’t change fate.” He ducks under the tape, watching Amra flash a smile and his consultant badge as he follows his motion.

He spots Topp standing at the edge of the scene, and as Damien turns the corner, he gets the full view of crime scene in front of them. A body lays in the middle of the ground, laid on its side with its arm outstretched, encircled by a giant heart. 

“Damn it,” Damien spits. 

Topp looks up from his papers. “Looks like it’s your guy.” He sees Topp do a double take as Amra begins to approach where the body’s been laid down. “Oh, he’s here?” 

“Captain’s mandate,” Damien rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why he thinks trusting a joker like this is a good idea, but…”

“What do you mean?” The starstruck look on Topp’s face clicks in Damien’s brain.

Damien gestures between Shayne and Amra. “Oh you  _ believe _ this bullshit?” 

“I just..well,” Topp shrugs. “I think…” his head moves on a swivel. “I just think that there’s some stuff he’s said that you can’t really...well, explain!”

“What did he try to sell you on?” 

Topp seems distracted by Amra squatting near the body. “What?” 

“Topp.”

The detective turns back towards him. “I’m paying attention.”

“You’re really not.” 

“I am,” Shayne raises his eyebrows. “And he told me something when I went to interrogate him, something that nobody else knows, or even  _ could _ know.” Damien sighs as Topp gets a dreamy look in his eyes. “He’s the real deal, Haas, skeptic or not, this guy’s got something special.”

“He’s a showman with above average intelligence, nothing more.” 

“I’ve found something, if you two want to stop bickering over my legitimacy,” Amra raises his head. Damien and Topp move towards him, and Amra looks up at Shayne. “Do you have some gloves, love?”

“Uh, yes!” Shayne goes bright red. “I’ll go grab some.” He scurries off to talk to the CSI unit, and Amra stands to face Damien.

“What,” Damien scowls sourly. “Spirits telling you something?”

“In fact they were.” Amra points to the body. “She was killed by the Heart-Eater, there’s no mistaking that.”

“Her heart is missing, we knew that before we got here, of course it’s him.” 

“ _ But _ ,” the man holds up a finger. “There’s something different about this one.” He pauses for a moment, as if daring Damien to egg him on. “Look at her hand.” 

Damien looks down at the victim’s hand, and furrows his eyebrows as he notices a small piece of paper crumpled in her grasp. He kneels down, trying to get a good look at it as Topp comes running over from the van across from them. 

“Here,” he sputters, “gloves.” 

Amra takes them daintily. “Thank you, love.” 

Shayne goes red again, clasping his hand over his arm as he smiles into his chest. “Course.” Damien does everything he can to keep himself from sighing as he rolls his eyes. Amra pulls on the gloves and begins pulling apart the woman’s fingers to reveal the paper inside. He murmurs something under his breath, a low, singular note that feels somewhat like it’s supposed to be calming. 

The paper comes free from her fingers, and Amra holds it up, unfurling the corners softly. “It’s a news article.”

“About what?” Topp cranes his neck to see. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Damien gripes. 

“It’s simply an observation, Haas,” Amra gives him that infamous, poisonous smile. 

Damien returns the expression with a grimace. “Sure.” He too, then moves to crane his neck at the paper. “What does it say?”

Amra narrows his eyes. “It’s an article from the Daily Observer.”

Damien makes a squeak that doesn’t go unnoticed by the other two. He coughs slightly, “something in my throat.” Damien rights himself, and narrows his eyes at it. “What...what does it say?”

“It’s an article about, uh the District Attorney?”

“Olivia Sui?” Damien raises an eyebrow. “What about her?” 

Amra looks closer at the article. “It’s cut off here, and it's not too easy to read.”

“Let’s get that bagged,” Damien shakes his head. “Can’t get much more information just from that.”

Shayne pulls out an evidence bag, and Amra slides it in. Damien takes the bag from him, scouring it quickly. It seems to be in reference to a case she was trying, but there wasn't much besides that.

“What do we know about the victim herself?” Damien reads through the article again, but finds nothing more. 

“25 to 30, female, from her clothes, she’s probably some sort of business professional.” Shayne takes over for a second. “But there’s no ID on her so we’re running through the fingerprint database to try and get a match.” 

“Her name is Amanda Feller,” Amra speaks slowly. His eyes are closed, and he stands stock still. “She was on her way home from work when she was attacked.” Amra’s breathing becomes labored, “she-” His eyes open and Damien watches his pupils dilate slightly. “She never saw him. But it is more than definitely the Heart-Eater.”

“Not to play devil’s advocate,” Topp’s voice wavers slightly. “But are we sure it’s him? Doesn’t he normally leave you little notes and stuff?” 

“Normally,” Damien mutters. “But he feels different now somehow, after all of the business with Riviera, it feels like he’s switched up his techniques.” 

“I concur,” Amra’s chest puffs out as he straightens his back. “His energy feels different than it did when I first detected it.” 

“What do we do then?” Shayne raises an eyebrow. 

“We wait,” Damien spoke the words, but his eyes were fixed on Olivia’s name in the article. Two words rang true in his mind,  _ we investigate. _

 

</3

 

“Aren’t you supposed bring your  _ partner _ with?” Courtney hurries behind him as the two of them trot up the steps of the courthouse. 

“You  _ are _ my partner,” Damien replies. “And if he asks, I’ll say that I needed backup.”

“For questioning a lawyer?” Courtney pauses slightly as he holds the door open for her. “Okay, maybe he’ll believe you, but you’re taking a lot of risk here-”

“This is my case, Courtney.” He stalls at the entrance, trying to remember the way to the District Attorney’s office. “I don’t want a fake like him masquerading as a detective and mucking it all up.” 

Damien asked her to come with him more or less as a lookout, and even though she’d eventually agreed, it was still tentative. If there was anyone in the precinct to fear, it was the Captain, and even though both of them hated getting on his bad side, Damien knew that it was a necessary evil. 

The two ascend the stairs to DA Sui’s office, passing a few familiar faces that were friendly, and a few more that were definitely not. As Damien turns the corner to face her door, he can hear laughter coming from within...annoyingly familiar laughter.

“Wait out here,” he murmurs to Courtney. 

He knocks three times before a sweetly toned voice sings out a loud, “come in!” 

“Damien Haas, really?” Olivia Sui sits against her desk, a tall man in the chair across from her. “I can’t believe it,” she giggles to herself. Damien watches as the District Attorney digs around in her wallet before handing a five dollar bill to the man. “A man of honor with dark hair and questions is going to enter my office at a quarter past. Right on the nose!”

“I’m confused, what’s going on?” Damien raises an eyebrow. 

“Took you long enough,” Amra turns in his seat. “DA Sui and I were just talking about a wonderful Reiki place I’ve been dying to look at.” 

“Oh, you can just call me Olivia,” she pats his arm. “Meddle my mind like that...” She rounds the table, sitting back in her chair. “You’re here for the same reason Amra came, right?” 

“Yes, DA Sui, and I’m very sorry to bother you. If Mr. Ricketts had told me he was coming in advance, this would’ve been less of a surprise.” He shoots Amra a sharp look, which is only met by the cockiest grin he's ever seen. “A dead woman was found clutching a news article about you in her grasp, and we need to know if you know anything about her.” 

“Amra told me her name is Amanda Feller.” 

“Yes,” Damien grimaces. Somehow Amra had actually managed to get the name right on the dot, and Damien was still scrambling for how he might’ve been able to do it. “She was found dead on Langston Avenue, in the courtyard behind the Ronder Building.”

“Such a tragedy,” Olivia shakes her head. “Does this have to do with the one case you’ve been tracking, Damien?” 

“We believe that this may be a Heart-Eater killing, but we’ve still yet to confirm it a hundred percent.” 

She looks at him with a mournful expression. “I’m afraid I hadn’t heard of her until this morning when Amra approached me. But the case the article is about...is another matter altogether.” Olivia wrings her hands slightly. “It’s been batted around our office for years, and nobody has been willing to take it. There’s a building company that’s accused of knowing that their building had massive structural problems that caused it to all come crashing down.” 

Amra’s eyes flutter closed. “It was bad,” he murmurs. “The deaths were not pretty.”

Olivia nods, “a lot of people were killed. At first they dismissed it as an accident, but somebody began to investigate, and a lot of bad things came out about them. It was why I even picked up the case in the first place.” She presses her fingers together softly. “It seemed like it would be an easy case...but then witnesses stopped wanting to testify, and even some of my experts became too scared of something, and didn’t want to give me their council anymore.”

“You think there’s sabotage in play?”

“I  _ know _ there’s sabotage in play, but by _whom_ is what’s stumping me.” Olivia puts a soft finger against her cheek, tapping it slowly. “I’d assume the company is our number one culprit, but it’s more or less  _ who _ is working inside that’s trying to cover it up.” 

“Is there anything else you might know?” Damien edges forward slightly. 

She shakes her head slowly, “sorry, not much. I wish I could be of more use to you.”

“It’s alright, DA Sui, thank you anyway.” 

“Yes, thank you Olivia for letting us indulge ourselves with your time.” Amra smiles sweetly at her, and she just giggles.

“Amra, you are a real charmer, I see why you were in the entertainment business.” 

He waves a hand, “oh you flatter me.” 

The two of them stand up to leave, and Damien shoots Amra a glance.  _ We’ll talk about this later _ . He only does that stupid grin of his as the two move towards the door. 

“Oh Damien I forgot to ask! Are you coming to the Leak-Grossman household for dinner next Friday?”

Damien suddenly remembers the invitation that has been burning a hole in his email for the past few days. Though he loves Keith and Noah to death, the two of them them, along with their lawyer friends, often make for stuffy conversation. He’s been trying to find an excuse to get out of it for weeks.

“Oh, uh-”

“You know, you should bring Amra with, I know that he would enthral the guests with much more flair than Congressman Todd does.” 

“A  _ dinner _ ?” Amra says it so softly that it slithers slowly off of his tongue. 

“This case has me really busy, I’ll see if I can.” Damien practically throws the words at her as he turns to leave. “Good seeing you, DA Sui.” 

“You too, Damien!” She laughs in return. 

Amra and Damien step out into the hall as the door closes behind them. Courtney is nowhere to be seen, but as Damien glances at his phone, notices that she had messaged him some sort of explanation. He has no time to read it before his eyes are fully focused on Amra’s.

“What were you  _ thinking _ ?” He tries his best to bite into Amra with his expression, but the man seems immune. “We’re partners, you’re not supposed to interview persons of interest without me!”

“Then what were you doing here Haas?” His eyes flick over Damien. “You didn’t tell me  _ you _ were going to be here either.” Amra’s eyes move to his fingernails, which he inspects ever so carefully as he speaks. “ _ I _ simply came because I had a psychic hit that I needed to be here, and you happened to show up.” 

“When the Captain finds out-”

“When the Captain finds out that  _ you _ were going to come here  _ alone _ without me-”

Damien throws up his hands. “You did the same thing!”

“Psychic. Hit. Haas, please, darling, you’re a Detective, keep up.” 

Damien feels himself go red, and begins stumbling for his words. “He won’t-”

“Won’t he?” Amra returns to his fingernails. “Perhaps he’ll give this case to someone else-”

“No,” Damien tightens his fist. “No, no. No. Fine.”

“Does that mean?”

“I’ll…” He feels his hand shake just slightly. “If you don’t tell him about this, I’ll work with you, for real this time.” 

“Wonderful!” Amra claps his hands together. “Now, lunch?” 

Damien shakes his head. “We’ve got a case, we don’t have time.”

“Pish,” Amra takes Damien’s arm in his as the two head back down the stairs. “There’s always time for lunch. Besides, I find that talking over food can often reveal the best of revelations.”

He slides his arms out of Amra’s, checking his phone for Courtney’s message. “There’s a cafe close to here, they have sandwiches, we can stop there quick on our way back to the precinct.”

“Orrrr.” Amra guides Damien away from a group of reporters, and through a group of kids on a fieldtrip. “I know this wonderful little French place with food that is to die for.” 

He glances at his watch. “We don’t have enough time for that.”

“They’ll be fast,” he waves another hand. “Live a little!”

“I’d rather not get yelled at by the Captain.”

“Croque madame, crepes, the best damn quiche you’ll ever have-”

Damien’s stomach growls in mutinous agreement with Amra. Once again has his stomach betrayed him. First to dairy, and then to a tall man in nice clothing pretending to be a psychic while also offering him buttery goodness.

“Alright, a quick stop.” 

The two of them head farther into the city, where Amra leads him to a small hole in the wall restaurant that oozes with a fake French facade. Inside is warm and quiet, a few people eating or reading the newspaper, and others drinking steaming coffee as they chat with others across from them.

A waiter approaches them almost immediately, and Amra speaks to the man in brisk French. They’re seated in a cushy booth soon after, and a man in a chef’s apron appears at their table. Amra and the man shout brightly at one another for a few minutes, guestering every few seconds. Damien catches a bit of what they’re saying, and what he recognizes from middle school French class. 

The man finally leaves, laughing as he goes, and Amra turns back to Damien.

“That was an old friend,” his smile gleams. “We knew each other back when I was touring France, and we met again recently.” He folds his hands over his closed menu. “Do you know what you want?”

Damien sighs, “I don’t really want to inflate your ego more; but what do  _ you _ recommend?” 

He watches Amra go starry-eyed as he goes through the best dishes here, and compares them to the ones he had while in small cities in France. If Damien wasn’t trying his best to keep his distaste for Amra, he would’ve almost found the excitement somewhat...cute...but he warded off Amra’s charms by repeating to himself everything that he’d found flawed with the man.

“Let me ask you this too.” Damien stirs the cup of coffee in front of him as Amra finishes talking. “How the hell did you manage to get your way into the DA’s office?” Damien rolls his eyes. “Are people just that impressed with your observational skills or are you just a magician too?”

“Many people are enthralled with my abilities.” He splays his hands. “And it does help ease my way into certain places if I can mesmerize people with them. As for the magician comment, I was, at one point, in that world.” Amra winks, leaning forward across the table towards Damien. “What’s this behind your ear?”

“I really don’t care.” Damien bats his hand away. 

Amra sighs, putting his hand, curling into a fist held up, palm down. He taps the back of it twice, before turning it over and revealing a shiny silver coin. “There you go,” he reaches over and pushes the coin into the pocket of Damien’s coat. “Buy yourself something pretty.” 

“So.” Damien clears his throat. “How about the case?”

“How about the  _ dinner _ ,” Amra swoops the conversation out from under him. “Lady Sui mentioned it? I’d love to attend. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you? She seemed so excited about you going.” 

“I’ll find some sort of excuse eventually.” Damien rubs a finger against the condensation on his glass. 

“What’s so bad about going?” 

“It’s a bunch of lawyers talking about lawyer stuff.” He shakes his head. “There’s not much room for a cop there. The food is good though.” 

Amra places his hands on the table, his eyes once again gaining their starry quality. “Bring me! I’ve always wanted some more contacts in this city. If this case takes as long as I suspect it might, I’d like to put down some roots, and put out some feelers. I can  _ guarantee _ that you’ll have a good time.” 

“Maybe.” Damien looks away, searching the room for something else to look at. “We really should talk about the case.”

“Right, the case.” 

Damien pulls out his phone, drafting a message to Agnew. “I’ll see if our technician found anything that might be important.” He switches browsers, and for a second is startled by the Heart-Eater’s messages appearing again. There’s been no conversation, no nothing since the body dropped. “Something’s different.” He says the words to himself, but Amra catches them. 

“How so?”

Damien opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. “Well, um.” He shifts in his seat. “At first the deaths were random. They had no connection to anything, we chalked them up to random encounters.”

“Like he suddenly got the urge and killed them?”

“Exactly.” He scrolls through his messages with the Heart-Eater. “But with Sylvia Riviera’s kidnapping not only connecting to Gabriel, but also to his murdered son, I’m beginning to wonder if something happened that made his switch up his motive.”

Amra made a gesture up with his hand. “A recent trigger that could’ve made him focus only on something specific?” 

“Maybe,” Damien murmurs. “The Heart-Eater likes puzzles, he’s made that kind of clear. I’m wondering if he’s trying to lead me on some sort of...game...or something.” 

“Hmm,” Amra leans back.

“No wise words of wisdom, Mr. Psychic?”

Amra says nothing, looking more puzzled than phased by Damien’s comment. “The spirits are oddly quiet today. Makes me wonder-”

“Wonder what?”

He waves a hand, “ _ you’ll  _ think it’s dumb.”

“Tell me.” 

Amra rolls his eyes, never losing his slight smile. “ _ Fine _ . I wonder if this Heart-Eater is also psychic, and if that’s how he knows so much about you.” 

“You’re right, I do think it’s dumb.”

“Of course.” He knocks his fist on the table three times. “Of  _ course _ .” Amra straightens up again. “But I do agree that something feels odd. Do you think that, because he had connections with Riviera, he might also have connections with whatever this building scandal is?” 

Damien raises his eyebrows, “wow that is your first solid idea.” 

Amra makes the motion of a small curtsey. “Thank you.” 

“I’ll have Agnew pull up some records for us.” Damien sends the man a quick message before opening one up to the Captain. “I’ll tell the Captain that we’ll run a little late, too.” 

“Perfect, the chef has the best raspberry tart here, it’s to  _ die _ for.” 

“Alright,” Damien feels himself itch in his skin. As much as he finds this an entire waste of time, there’s something almost nice about Amra Ricketts. 

As he watches the man grin wider at him, Damien finds himself shoving down a strange warmth that boils in his chest. 


	11. Eleven

Damien lets his head fall onto the table for what feels like the third time that hour. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” 

“Still nothing?” Amra’s voice flickers from behind him, twinged with the slightest bit of british twang he seems to carry. 

“Nothing,” Damien thumps his head against the table a little harder. “You?”

“Zip.” 

“I thought this would be easy,” he growls under his breath. “Seems that a giant corporation trying to hide their misdeeds did a better job than I’d expected.” Damien lifts his head, spinning around in his chair slowly. 

Amra has his head propped on his shoulder to see Damien better. He lifts his eyebrows before spinning around too. “So what now?” 

“What’d you mean?” 

“Aren’t you the expert here?” Amra lets his smile slowly crinkle up into his eyes. Damien feels his stomach flip over a few times but shoves down those feelings wholeheartedly. “What do you normally do when a case gets stuck?” 

“Well, depending, I’ll either toss it to the side and let it stew, or I’ll go harder on it than I have before.” 

Amra squishes up his nose. “I don’t like either of those ideas.” 

Damien laughs, throwing up his hands. “You’re the one that asked me!” He flicks his wrist, tossing his hand in the air as if to dismiss Amra. “And you’re one to talk, aren’t you supposed to be the psychic here? Give me guidance and all?” 

“The spirits have decided to be quiet.” He shrugs. “As soon as they tell me something, I’ll be sure to relay it to you.” 

Damien rolls his eyes. “Right.” His eyes fall to the pile of papers that was their dwindling file of possible leads. Normally he’d want to immediately move back to the very large pile of dead ends, but- 

“Please don’t tell me that you’re thinking of…” Amra sighs. “We’ve gone through it at least three times now.” 

“We must’ve missed something.” 

“Or your killer is just good at covering up his tracks.” He mumbles the last part more to himself, “or just giving you enough information to keep you on the line.” 

Damien rolls his eyes again, instead grabbing for the pile of leads. They’d already sorted out everyone who had survived the building collapse, which wasn’t many people. It’d been late at night, so anyone who lived in the building was most likely asleep, thinking everything had been fine. 

He flips through the names, trying to see if they spark anything at all in him. “See if you can get anything from these.” Damien hands Amra the files. He watches the man flip through them intently, trying to parse out anything. 

“Hmm,” Amra mutters. He places one of the files to the side and keeps moving. Another files goes on the pile after it, and he finishes by handing the rest to Damien. “There.” 

“What did you find?” 

“The people you’re holding now are the only ones still alive, the other two have died now. I felt them when I reached out, they’ve passed over.” 

“Names?” 

“Amaria Lucretia,” he places a fingertip on one file. “She was old when it happened, must’ve passed of old age, or the stress from the building collapse.”

“And the other?”

Amra presses his lips together. “I think you might find this one interesting.” He moves his eyes up to catch Damien’s. “David Moss. He was murdered. Had his heart ripped out.” 

“That’s a fucking lead-” Damien grapples for the case. He reads through the file quickly. “Doesn’t say here that he was murdered, how did you…”

Amra taps his forehead gently. “I listened.”

He narrows his eyes, nodding slowly. “I’ll go see if I can get his file pulled-”

Damien’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, answering it quickly. His face falls slowly, and he pushes back into his phone into his pocket as the call ends. 

“Damn it, we’ve got another body.” 

 

</3

 

“Is he  _ supposed _ to be doing that?” The lead officer on the scene stands next to Damien as the two watch Amra standing over the body. His eyes are closed, but his mouth moves intently, as if he were having a full blown conversation with the corpse on the ground. 

They’re standing in the middle of an architectural firm, arguably one of the nicer crime scenes they’d been to. But it worries Damien. The building is on a busy street, and giant windows on the side face out towards apartments whose own windows glow yellow in the dim light outside. He can even see a few faces inside the building trying to parse out what happened across the street. The Heart Eater is getting more bold.

“Have you gotten any footage pulled yet?” 

“We tried,” the officer shakes his head. “All of it was wiped, I’m sorry.” 

“I expected that,” Damien mumbles. “Not your fault.” 

He looks around the room to gather more details than he did before, having a bit of time to find anything out of place before the CSI teams fully take over. They were lucky that the building was close, and the crime scene was still somewhat fresh. 

Damien backpedals to the elevator door, where he assumes that the Heart Eater entered through. He looks for any sign of scuffle or scuff, but there’s very few markings besides the ones left by everyday movement of people through the firm. 

It’s another reason why he’s surprised. Why would he choose a place where so many people could’ve been his target, how did he know that the man would be here?

Damien crosses the room again, finding where their victim had been attacked. Blood splatter has fallen on the drafting table, and as Damien looks down at the victim, he notes several small puncture wounds on his front. 

The man’s chest has been opened up, the same way as all of the other victims. His heart is gone, but beside the floor slick with blood around him, the man himself isn’t bloodied at all, as if all of it were drained away by some sort of suckling creature.

Amra leans back from the victim, looking up at Damien. 

“Spirits telling you something?” He utters the words sarcastically. 

Amra seems miffed, his eyebrows knitting together. “Nothing. It’s as if this man’s spirit has been taken, whole, from his body.” He turns back to the corpse. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I wonder…” 

“So he’s the leader of the firm here?” Damien looks up to the officer.

The man jogs over, suddenly jumping to attention. “He’s the vice president, yes.”

Amra leans in towards him, making the hair on the back of Damien’s neck stand up straight. “And he’s also the man behind our collapsed building.” 

Damien nods quickly, pulling away. “So he was stabbed in the back-”

“Literally or metaphorically?”

“Literally.” Damien points out the blood seeping out from behind the man onto the ground. “If he was stabbed through the front the blood would most likely pool up on his chest, instead of down around his back.” Amra returns his expression as the officer’s cheeks puff out in disgust. “Then he was flipped over, his chest was cut open, and his heart was removed.”

“I’m guessing we can assume he was alive for this?” Amra hand moves slowly over the top of the man’s face. 

“Probably,” Damien mutters. 

“Oh,” the officer cringes. “Poor guy.” 

“Well from all of the people he got killed.” Amra straightens from where he stands on the ground. “He probably deserved this.” 

The elevator door pulls open, and a few people in CSI jackets step in holding equipment as they’re flanked by the lead tech, Sarah Whittle. 

“Haas,” she calls. “Haven’t seen you on a case in a while.” 

Damien barely looks at her. “Yeah. It's been a while.” He turns to Amra. “You want to go get dinner while we wait for them to finish up?” 

Amra flushes with excitement. “Detective, I never thought you’d ask.” 

As they step into the elevator, something catches Damien’s eye. One of the lower level buttons has a piece of tape over it. Written in red sharpie is a familiar marking.  **_< /3_ ** . 

Without thinking, Damien hits the button. The elevator rattles as it shoots them down deep into the belly of the building. Amra makes a noise of confusion, but Damien points out the symbol, and he seems to understand. 

The elevator keeps moving farther and farther down until the display above them reads with that same symbol from before. The lights in the elevator short completely out, until all that glows is the bright red of the broken heart.

The door swing open slowly, and a darkened, unfinished room appears before them. Damien reaches for his gun, moving his hand to keep Amra behind him. 

“I’d hoped you’d find this place.” A sickeningly familiar voice makes the hair on his arms stand up straight. Damien tries to find where it’s coming from, but it seems to be coming from everywhere at once. “You’re not as daft as I had once thought.” 

He spun, trying to find the source of the words.

“Nothing to say to me, Detective?” His voice dances lightly on the tip of his tongue, constantly moving. “No questions? No words?” 

“Where are you?” Damien finally hisses.

"Mm," he sighs. "Everywhere I suppose. One gets cooped up for so long."

“Is that why you're killing people this way now?”

There’s a slight pause, and for a moment, Damien thinks he might’ve lost the Heart-Eater. 

“Man is nothing without a purpose. Beast is nothing without a drive.” There’s a slight pause in his words. “One might say that I fall in between. I am still a man, and yet, I hunger for flesh like a beast. Tell me, detective, what does that make me?”

“A monster,” Amra speaks finally. 

There’s a movement to the Heart-Eater’s voice. “Ah, your pet psychic. I was wondering when we might meet.” 

Damien motions for Amra to stay back. He watches Amra raise his head, and the man looks like a bird puffing up its feathers. “You are quite the intriguing specimen!” He makes a small movement. “I wondered if you were like me.”

There’s another pensive pause. “Perhaps.” 

Damien can hear something moving in the distance. There’s no shadow of a figure, no nothing, except for the slight swishes of sound that echo in the tiny, winding room. 

“I’m very glad that you’ve decided to play this game, Detective. I do hope that you understand the clue that I’ve left you. We’ll meet again soon.” He hears a soft click, and Damien raises his weapon instinctively. Damien pulls around the corner, and in the darkness he sees the blip of light from a machine sitting on a table in the darkness.

“Amra,” he sighs. “He was never here.” 

The psychic appears from around the corner, “he wasn’t?” Damien flicks on a flashlight, aiming it over the receiver. 

“Just another way to mess with you?”

Damien bites his lip, nodding. “I need-” He pauses, watching as Amra eyes him intently. "I need something to distract me." He lets his head hang slightly, pushing his gun back into its holster. “I’m fucking tired.” 

“Then what do you have in mind?” 

 

<3

 

Damien turns the bolt to his apartment, moving aside to let Amra through first.

The room is dim, the lights flickering on slowly at Damien flips on the switch. He tosses his keys into a small dish by the door before locking the bolt behind them. 

“Quaint,” the psychic moves through the room. “You live very minimalistically.” 

“Do I?” Damien scratches the back of his head. “I just...I guess I’ve never needed much.”

“So, what  _ did _ you have in mind.” Amra sits back against the arm of Damien’s ratty old couch. “You don’t usually invite a gentleman up to your room without telling him your intentions...unless-”

Damien flushes bright pink. “Get your head out of the gutter,” he brushes past Amra into the kitchen. He clatters through the cupboard for some cup, trying to hide his expression. “I’m having Agnew send over some files. We can look through the ones that we flagged, start canvassing bright and early tomorrow. I have tea, coffee, water...beer if you want it.” 

Amra moves slowly into the kitchen. “Tea. What kinds?” 

“Uh, just earl grey, and some black tea, but it’s some strong stuff.” 

“I’ll take the black tea.” 

The two of them sit quietly in the den, waiting for the files to arrive. Amra makes most of the conversation, and while Damien tries his best to stay focused, his mind is very much elsewhere.  _ Why would the Heart-Eater reach out like  _ that _? _

He had mentioned a clue...but the CSI techs hadn’t found anything yet.  _ What was he missing? _

There was so much information, so much confusion. So much had happened, and Damien still felt like he was barely scratching the surface of the whole mystery.

“Are you off in Neverland, Detective?” 

Damien meets Amra’s eyes again. “What?” He blinks suddenly and rapidly. “Oh, yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

“I’d asked about that party, the one that DA Sui mentioned.” 

“Oh, right.” Damien narrows his eyes, smiling slightly. “What’s with your obsession with that?”

Amra shrugs, “I haven’t been to a proper party in ages.”

There’s something odd in Amra’s eyes. Damien blinks slowly, his expression fading slightly. “What’s the real reason?”

Amra falters, “I think you’re more psychic that you like to believe, Haas.” 

“No,” Damien sticks out his lip, “just observant.”

The man smiles, laughing slightly. “Of course, of course.” Amra presses his fingertips together. “I’ve been getting this little nagging in the back of my head ever since you mentioned it. I think we’re supposed to go there. I don’t know why, but it’s...it’s fate, just as much as you and I working together was fate.”

Damien lays back against the couch. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

He sighs slowly, pulling out his phone. Damien picks Keith out of his contacts, and dials the number. “Hey, Keith? It’s Damien. Yeah. I’ll be coming on Friday.” He eyes Amra for a second. “And I’ll be bringing someone special.”


	12. Twelve

“This isn’t a good idea.” 

“You’ve said that for the past five minutes, now, come on, I’m not waiting forever!” Amra leans over Damien’s open window, where he sits, hands tight on the steering wheel. 

Damien turns his head towards the inviting glow of the Leak-Grossman household. “All of those people...”

“I’ll be right by your side.” 

Amra pulls the door open, holding his hand out for Damien. He sighs, turning the car off and taking Amra’s hand. It’s warm in his, and for a second, he doesn’t want to let go. But something gets the better of him, and he slams the door shut behind him.

The stand in the cool evening air, facing one another. Amra wears a crimson suit, his vest dappled with yellow accents, a few stylish golden necklaces dripping with symbols and jewels hang across his chest.

Damien wears his only suit, the steel blue one with the grey tie used for weddings and civilian funerals. It’s the one that hangs next to his uniform, both of which are stowed away in the very back of his closet. 

He feels an arm loop around his, both an anchor to keep him from falling over, and a guide to keep him from jumping back in his car and gunning it as far away as possible. It isn’t that he doesn’t like the hosts, he loves Keith like a brother, but it’s more or less the nature of the guests that leaves Damien sour. 

All of them are rich, powerful, and the snobbiest brats Damien has ever met. He knows Amra will be able to slide right in along with them, his origins in entertainment made that easy for him. For Damien, on the other hand, having to listen to someone talk about their third divorce was enough to make him rip out his hair. 

Amra glides elegantly up the stairs, nearly dragging Damien along with him as the man scuffs his shoes on accident tripping up winding cement staircase. He rings the doorbell, the only thing he can manage to do with his slightly shaking nerves. The two of them stand there for an extra second, and Damien feels Amra pull his other arm around, squeezing Damien’s bicep tightly in his hand.

“I’ll be with you the whole time, and if you need to escape,” Amra moves his hands down Damien’s arm, clasping his hand gently, “just touch my back.” He moves Damien’s hand to touch the small of his back, to the little cavity where it dipped in, creating the perfect space for a few fingertips to rest comfortably. “And I’ll know that you need an out.” Damien feels his fingers shivering on Amra’s back, so much so that he’s nearly sure the man can feel it too. He forces himself to let go, dropping his hand away as the door opens, and they’re pulled fully into the bustle of the household.

“Damien!” Noah pulls him into a hug, and Damien barely has time to let go before Keith is giving him a hard side hug. 

“It has been too long since you agreed to come to one of these!” Keith smiles brilliantly, sliding an arm over his husband’s shoulder. 

Noah raises his eyebrows. “And who is this?” 

Amra gives a quaint little bow, which only adds to the suave layers of charm he’s been laying over them ever since he walked in the door. “Amra Ricketts-”

Noah let out a little gasp, “you’re that psychic! The one Liv was talking about.” He steps forward, motioning for Amra to follow him. “You absolutely  _ must _ come and meet some of my fellow attorneys, I’d  _ love _ for you to pick them apart like you did for Liv.” Noah swings back for a second. “And I’m also sure that these two would like a quick moment to chat, y’know, army jargon and all.” 

The two disappear through the ostentatiously decorated hallway towards the sound of the voices and clinking dishes. Keith turns back to him, still fully grinning. “How have you been?” 

“Alright,” Damien nods slowly. The two of them move after the others, their footsteps falling in tandem as they head down the hall. “You?”

“Same old, same old.” He lifts his head up from where it had dipped towards the ground. “Seems you have had an eventful few weeks though.” Keith jabs his thumb towards where Amra had gone. “Picking up a  _ psychic _ ?” 

Damien laughs, rolling his eyes. “I know, I know. It’s not as bad as you think. He’s nice, and he’s more fun to work with than a few of my colleagues...I’m starting to like him now.”

“You brought him and you don’t like him?” 

“It’s for the case,” Damien shrugs. “He says something’s going to happen tonight and we need to be here for it.”

“Ahh the case.” 

The two of them step down the end of the hall, and are greeted by a great mass of people mingling about in the living room, spilling around the corners to the screen porch, and moving through the dining room where there are plates of fragrant appetizers and desserts that look like they took a week to make, and enough alcohol to drown an elephant. Keith takes them around the corner to the dining room, where he hands Damien a glass of red wine. It smells like alcohol, but Damien doesn’t know much more about wine to discern whether it’s the best of the best or utter shit. Based on the decadence surrounding them now, he assumes that it’s probably incredibly high quality. 

“I haven’t heard anything  _ but _ that shit recently.” Keith shakes his head. “You’ve gotten everyone in the attorney's office going crazy about it. Of course, it’s all in the backs of their minds, nothing up front or out loud, but it feels like everyone’s on edge.” 

“I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks,” Damien admits quietly. “Sometimes I just want to escape from it all, but I know I have to keep at it. I wouldn’t want to sentence anyone else to this sort of pain.” 

“You’ve always been so goddamn self-sacrificing.” His friend rolls his eyes. “I think you’ve given yourself a savior complex by now.” 

“What, like I’m Jesus?” 

Keith smiles over the rim of his glass. “Ehh, something like that.” 

Damien follows Keith around the party for a while, making his normals rounds, and letting time pass. It’s boring, but it’s not as bad as Damien thought it would be. He chats with one of Noah’s lawyer friends and his wife for a while, and manages to gather a few favors in exchange for a few of his own. 

There is a lifting in the sound, and he follows it to a small group that surrounds a singular person in particular. He knows who it is before he can even see them. Amra moves about fluidly, casting his charm on everyone as flashes smiles and batters his eyelashes. At some point Damien seems to catch his eye. Damien crosses his arms, a wine glass still held in his hand. He raises an eyebrow at his partner, who winks at him with no reprehension. Again, he finds himself turning pink at the expression. 

_ Why does the stupid psychic have to make him feel this way? _

“And so,” Amra lifts a hand. “You mother wishes you to know that she harbors no resentment against you not being able to take care of her cat.” A woman in front of him bursts into tears before she begins to hug him tightly around the waist. He pats her head gently before the crowd is on him again, asking him question after question and pestering him nonstop about his ‘gift’. 

Damien grins at Amra before turning on heel, and heading into the den. A few groups of people mingle about here, most of them coming too and fro from the softly lit backyard, where most of the party is outside chattering and laughing.

He casts a glance back at Amra, who seems fully capable of the situation, his expression bright as he, Noah, and DA Sui became engrossed in conversation. Damien draws in a short breath before escaping out the backdoor with a small band of people. Small lantern lights line the cobblestone back patio, a soft bit of music working as the perfect backdrop to the mutterings of conversation. 

Damien stops, realizing that he’s never taken the second to try his drink. He sips it, and in the same moment, realizes that he doesn’t like wine whatsoever.  _ Who even thought drinking fermented grape juice was a good idea in the first place? What sort of- _

“Detective Haas.” A voice behind him makes him nearly jump out of his skin. 

He turns, and he’s greeted by a familiar bushy beard, accompanied by a swooping mass of salt and pepper hair standing beside him. Damien’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull.

“Governor McLaughlin!” Damien fumbles to extend his hand. Rhett McLaughlin extends his hand and a smile. “I’m surprised to see you here, and that you also know who I am.” 

“With the waves you’ve been making, I think everyone here probably knows who you are.” The salt and pepper haired man next to Rhett laughs. Link Neal, Rhett’s Chief of Staff stands with his hands in his pockets. “I mean, the Heart-Eater? In- _ sane _ . I’ve never heard anything like that before.” 

“Serial killers like him are rare,” Damien nods. He decides quickly that it’s better to indulge the two of them than give his honest words. The Heart-Eater isn’t someone to be admired or intrigued by; but most people outside of his field see them as zoo animals, something to entertain them.

But when talking to the fucking  _ governor _ , Damien might have to try and make his words a little smoother. 

“And uh, they come in several forms. This one has, um, well, he likes to send puzzles-” Damien straightens a little. “He actually sent me five hearts in a cardboard box once.” 

Both men go wide eyed at that, and Damien realizes that he’s not sure whether or not that information was ever released to the public. “He um, he actually, he like patterns we think, he’s-”

Damien feels someone brush against him, and Amra’s voice fills him with relief. “The Heart-Eater? Are you talking about our case again?” 

“You know me,” he relaxes gently. Damien’s hand slowly moves, pressing against the small of Amra’s back. The man straightens, but he seems surprised when Damien doesn’t remove his hand. 

He takes over the conversation smoothly, letting Damien escape into nods and clarifications. Amra is as suave as ever, but he still seems distracted. When Rhett and Link seem to have had their fill of true crime, they excuse themselves to a conversation with Olivia. 

Damien lets his hand fall as Amra turns towards him. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m glad that you saved me, that’s for sure,” he exhaled forcefully. 

Amra raises an eyebrow, “who were they?” He leans in a little closer to Damien, which is somewhat hard to do, seeing as how close they’d already happened to have been standing. “They had maddening amounts of tension coming from between them.” 

“Governor McLaughlin and his Chief of Staff, Link Neal.” Damien turns his head to whisper the words in Amra’s ear. “It’s kind of an open secret that they’ve been well…” he pauses, “y’know…”

Amra grins, “I do.” 

Damien feels himself go red again. “Anyway, most people here know, but it’s kept from most everywhere else. Too much red tape if it went public.” He moves to drink his wine again, somehow easily forgetting that he hates it. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Amra laughs lightly. “These people are chock full of spiritual secrets just ripe for the plucking.” 

They turn towards the slow moving groups of people, watching them converse. Damien nods towards the groups of people. “Try me, let’s see what you know.” 

“That man there,” he gestures to a man in a dark suit and bright yellow tie. “Not incredibly powerful, but has some sawy. He’s worried about…” Amra’s fingertip weaves through the crowd of people. “His wife.” His finger lands on a tall woman in a deep blue dress. 

“Correct and correct,” Damien nods. “That man is the head of the water board, and I’ve heard from one of my PI contacts that his wife might be cheating on him. But she’s too much of a socialite and a beauty for him to leave her.” 

“Straight people are so…” Amra makes a face that makes him snort laughing. 

Damien raises an eyebrow, “and you’re not, uh, you’re not…”

“Of course I’m not straight,” Amra sticks out his tongue in disgust. “Me? Straight?” He pretends to gag, which only makes Damien giggle harder. “Never.” Amra waves his hand lightly. “And you, you said in the interrogation room…?”

“Bi,” Damien nods. “The only time I thought I was ever fully straight was in 6th grade when I pretended that I didn’t have a crush on this guy in my class, buuuut that didn’t last very long.” Amra looks down at him intently, and Damien can practically feel him searching for whatever spirits he pretends can speak to him. “What.” Damien says it plainly.

“Huh,” Amra mumbles softly, clearly intrigued. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” the man smirks. He turns away, heading deeper into the party.

“Amra?” Damien dashes after him. “Amra!” He slides in next to the man as they head into the thick of it. Amra gestures to people coyly, mumbling little truths about each of them that Damien can’t fathom how he knows. They end up at the other side, and Amra spins back towards Damien. 

“What, my dear Detective, did you want to know?” He crosses his arms against his chest. “You say you don’t believe in my power and yet, you clammer for it now…” 

“Because that’s why we’re here in the first place,” Damien gruffs softly. “In fact, your little prediction still hasn’t paid off yet-”

Amra waves his hand. “It could’ve already happened.” 

Damien’s eyes bug. “What do you mean?”

“Well the spirits aren’t going to give you a huge glittering sign that says ‘ _ help here’  _ and what not, it could’ve been a line in conversation that’ll spark something, or even a connection that’ll pay off later. It  _ could _ be something bigger, but the likelihood...”

Damien let out a long puff of air. “I should’ve known.” He turns back to Amra. “We’re here for nothing.” 

“Not nothing,” Amra lifts his head, looking past Damien. “And you are having fun, aren’t you?”

“I guess.” Damien moves his hands up in a shrug, dropping them to his sides just as quickly as they came up. He turns to look at what Amra has spotted, and sees two tall men striding across the lawn.

“Whatever you do, tell them yes,” Amra speaks. Damien turns to ask him why, but the man has already disappeared again.

“Detective Haas!” The shorter man, with spiky porcupine hair and the slightest dusty scruff on his chin holds his arms out in wide greeting. Damien smiles brightly instinctively. 

“Councilman Bereta, and,” he turns up to the other man. This one is taller, with a slack jawed expression and dark eyes. “And, Councilman Morgan, it’s good to see you two.”

“Damien, we’re here to ask you something very important.”

“Ah, did the Governor tell you about the case?” 

“No,” Councilman Bereta shakes a finger in though. “But we will want to be hearing about that if you accept our proposition here.” 

“Proposition?” 

Councilman Morgan finally speaks. “We are a part of a very selective game of poker. We’ve heard lots of good things about you, and we’d love if you’d join.” 

Damien bites his tongue for a second. A cop getting invited anywhere by government entities can only end in bribery and a few arrests. “I love poker, but,” he looks to both of them. “What’s the catch?”

Bereta lifts his hands up, “no catch. But, I can say that you won’t only get some money out of the game.” 

He narrows his eyes slightly, “favors?”

“And information.” He waves the hand still hanging in the air. “There’s a game next week Saturday, head to the Stag Lounge on 3rd. Go back, and talk to the man standing watch at the back. Give him the codeword,  _ Redbird _ .” Bereta and Morgan begin to move back. “It’s an open invitation, Haas, but we’d love you to come.”

“‘Course,” Damien nods, watching them go. Amra appears like smoke dancing across a still pond, peering over Damien’s shoulder. 

“What’d they say?”

“I don’t...I don’t really know what I agreed to.” 

“Hmm,” Amra hums. “Then let’s just wait and see.” 

The two circle the party for a while longer, chatting with a few people before losing each other at some point. Damien finds himself in the middle of a conversation with a few lawyers before a booming voice catches him off guard. 

“Damien!” Behind him, a huge man with a curly beard and bright eyes holds out his arms. 

Damien feels a sharp pang in his chest as he sees the man, but smiles and runs to hug him anyway. “Matt Raub! It’s so goddamn good to see you.” He pulls away from Matt Raub, grinning wildly. Damien slaps Matt Raub on the shoulder playfully, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“I could say the same of you!” His beaming grin falls warmly on Damien. “You never come to these things.” 

“I had to make an exception.”

Matt Raub hugs him again. “It really is good to see you. We all miss you down at the Observer.” 

Damien feels his stomach drop, “yeah I know.” He repeats the last two words quieter to himself again. “I know.”

“There was no bad blood between you two, why do you never come to visit?” 

Damien sighs, “I guess it hurt just seeing him again.” He straightens slightly, “but less about then, what about now! How is everyone?”

“Doing fine, lots of new grunts in the rookie slots, and a lot of old faces in the staff writer positions. Lots of strange stories I wish I got to work on, and  _ speaking _ of stories, I heard that you’ve been working on an interesting case.” 

Damien nods, rolling his eyes. “That’s partially why I’m here. And the fact that people won’t stop asking me about it.” 

“Are you getting information?” Matt Raub’s eyebrows shoot up.

“No, no, my partner thinks that we might be able to get something interesting here.” 

“Partner?”

“The Captain hired a psychic, and now he works with me.”

“ _ Hecox _ hired a  _ psychic _ ?!” Matt throws his head back, fully belly laughs rocking his body as he wipes phantom tears from his eyes. “This case must really be killing you at the department.”

“It’s been...well it’s been something. And it keeps changing too, becoming more and more confusing as time moves on.” Damien runs his hand through his hair. “I mean...I mean,” he looks up to Matt Raub, before letting his hand fall back again, sighing. “We’ve lost all of our leads, the only things we’ve had to go on were sealed years ago.”

Matt Raub’s face lights up, and leaves Damien confused. “Wait is that the case I was talking to Olivia about?”

“She was in an article...about-”

“About the building collapse!” Matt Raub’s grinning with a gaping smile. “Do I have some good news for you, I did a piece on the building, I interviewed everyone there.”

Damien is at a loss of words for a second. “Wait you…?” His face is twitching with a smile. “You did?”

“I interviewed all of the survivors, anyone involved.” He rolls his eyes slightly. “But they got it quashed before it could be released.” Matt Raub snaps his fingers. “ _ BUT! _ I still have all of the case files back at the office.”

Damien is maniacally searching for Amra. “I can have you send them over to the precinct!”

“Why don’t you just come in and get them?” Matt Raub raises an eyebrow. 

Damien’s smile fades. “Come...in?”

“It’s not gonna hurt you.” Matt Raub sighs, “it’s been almost a year now Damien. Would it kill you to see him again?” 

_ His ex-boyfriend? The reason he’d avoided the Daily Observer’s office all this time? Definitely.  _


	13. Thirteen

Amra hasn’t stopped grinning since Damien’s conversation with Matt Raub at the party, and it’s starting to make him nuts. 

“Stop it.”

“Stop  _ what _ ?” Amra smiles with that mocking sort of air. The two ascend the steps up to the tall grey building, and Amra sticks his tongue out between his teeth as he pulls open the front door to the Daily Observer’s office building. 

Damien shakes his head. “Please just, don’t embarrass me. I actually really like these people and the last thing I want is for them to get weirded out by someone I’ve brought with.”

“I’ll behave,” Amra snickers. 

He’s been dreading this the second Matt Raub suggested it. Though he does miss his friends here, and the time he used to spend leaned over a certain someone’s desk, he hasn’t been here in nearly a year. Fear, mostly, is the culprit, along with a small bit of shame, and even more of heartbreak. 

He’d rather chop off his own arm that be here right now.

Damien makes quick conversation with the receptionist before being sent through to the elevator. Once the door closes behind them, a few lights flash inside the small box, and they’re shot upwards. 

“Odd,” Amra narrows his eyes at the button panel. He presses a few buttons gently. “Fake?”

“It’s a precaution, just in case someone came in trying to harm anyone. Only the receptionist can bring you up to the upper floors.”

Amra nods, humming slightly in reply. 

The two stand in silence before the bell dings, and they’re let off into the bustle of the Observer’s main headquarters. The bullpen is similar to that of the precinct’s, just with more paper and noise. 

Damien walks in tentatively, moving through the main area just waiting for-

“Damien?” A soft voice gets his attention. 

He turns, putting on enough of a smile to get by. 

A familiar face - Taylor - stands behind him, smiling brilliantly. “It  _ is _ you! What are you doing here? It’s been so long!” She wraps him in a quick hug, and before he can hug her back, she’s pulled away and shouting to others in the room. “Yo, Tommy, Nanc, Daren, look who’s here!”

Three heads pop up from their desks in separate intervals, and a chorus of his name spoken on different voices rushes towards him. He’s then swarmed by people, shaking hands, giving hugs, the occasional fist bump. All that time, his head is on a swivel waiting for the inevitable…

“Hi.” He’s released by the hands and the swarm all at once, and they part to reveal a familiar face. The Head Writer for the Observer. Matt Raub’s kid brother. The ex that broke his heart.

“Mark. Hi.” 

Damien can feel the Observer employees staring at the two of them, he can almost  _ hear  _ Amra’s shit eating grin. It’s killing him.  _ Why did he come here _ .

“Damien,” a hand clasps on his shoulder, and he nearly implodes. Matt Raub stands behind him, smiling slightly. “I should get you those files, hmm?”

He follows Matt towards the office, letting all of the stiffness fall off his shoulders. It scares him, how easily he froze under pressure. Damien turns to motion for Amra to follow him, but the man is still grinning, that look in his eyes telling Damien that the psychic has no notion of moving from where he’s standing. 

Damien begs Amra, with all the emotion in his eyes he can muster, to just  _ please not do this. _ But Amra just grins brighter, and Damien watches him turn to Mark and start a conversation, and then the door shuts behind him. 

Matt’s office is smaller than the Captain’s, but still pretty sizable for an office. There’s no windows in here besides the ones beside the front door, though there’s a large landscape painting behind Matt’s desk, flanked by a pair of oak bookcases filled to the brim with encyclopedias and a few older books with cracked spines. It’s warmer in here than outside, thanks to the space heater humming on the floor next to Matt’s desk, and provides some of the only glow in here besides the few lamps glowing with yellow-orange light. 

“Alright,” Matt Raub digs through a file cabinet in the top of the bookshelf. “It’s in here somewhere, I saw it the other day.”

“Gotcha,” Damien mumbles, his head still preoccupied.

“So you didn’t explode.”

“Hmm?” He looks up, registering what Matt’s saying. “Oh, uh yeah, I guess.” 

“But you did look like a deer in headlights there for a second.”

Damien let out a little breathy laugh. “I  _ felt _ like one.” 

“You froze?”

“I did,” he sighs. “I don’t freeze in front of anyone or anything, I’m a cop, I can’t, but with him…” Damien catches himself, pushing the feelings back into the little box where they belong. “Still hurts, I guess.”

Matt lets out a little, “ah-ha!” He slides a thick file out of the cabinet. Matt thumps it on the table, pushing it forward towards Damien. “Well, if it means anything, I really wanted you to be my brother in law.”

Damien rolls his eyes, snickering at the joke. “Sure, sure.” He turns so that he can see where Amra and Mark are standing. Damien doesn’t know how, but Amra lifts his head to catch his eyes at the perfect moment. He grins slightly, and Damien bites the inside of his cheek. “I think my psychic is currently grilling your brother for information about me.” 

“That won’t go well at all.” Matt slides the papers forward towards Damien. “So good luck to both this  _ and _ the inevitable conversations to come.” 

“Thanks,” Damien mumbles. Making it more of a courtesy than anything that actually means something. 

The two step out of the office, and Mark and Amra lift their heads again. Amra is still smiling brilliantly, with that perfectly punchable face, and Mark...Damien’s not sure what to make of his expression. 

Amra steps forward and pulls Matt by the shoulder, beginning a scheming conversation that Matt seems to understand the purpose of immediately. Damien begins thinking of all of the ways he can kill Amra quickly and quietly later. 

“So…” Mark speaks first, his words mumbled slightly. “We should probably catch up, right?”

“Right,” Damien takes a step closer. This is the  _ last _ thing he wanted to do today. Part of him wants to implode right now, just reduce himself to bits right here and now. “You’ve been well?”

“Well as I can be.”

“You’ve moved up now, no longer just a rat race floor journalist?” 

Mark smiles, “helps when your big brother is the editor in chief.” 

“Ah, nepotism.” Damien cracks a small grin. 

Mark screws up his face in that way he used to, and it kills Damien a little. “I wouldn’t exactly say that entirely. I do my work, I earned my spot.”

“Alright nepotist.”

Damien watches Mark’s lips press into a thin line, not annoyed, but something else entirely. “Your partner seems nice.”

Damien grimaces, “I’m sorry about him.” 

“No, no, he’s really cool,” Mark scratches the back of his neck. “He’s good for you.”

He falters at Mark’s words. “What do you...what?”

“I mean, it’s about time that you finally move on right?” Mark scuffs at the floor with his shoe. “I know you haven’t dated anyone since, well us…”

“How do you know that?”

“I still follow you on Instagram, if you were dating someone, there’d be some sort of post about it. And I mean, we broke up a little under a year ago, and I don’t know if you need my blessing or something to move on but…” Mark lifts his head, looking over at where Amra is having an expressive conversation with Matt. “You clearly like him-“

“I do  _ not _ .” 

Mark gives him a look that Damien knows by heart. 

“Okay maybe a  _ little _ .” Damien bites the inside of his cheek as Mark raises an eyebrow. “Fine maybe a little more than a little, but it’s a bad idea, we’re partners, and he clearly doesn’t like me in the same way.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know! I’m bad at this shit.”

“You’re a detective.” 

Damien lets out a puff of air that’s buzzed between his lips. “Amra’s different, he’s more complicated.” He catches himself quickly, “which isn’t to say you  _ aren’t  _ complicated, but like, he’s just a whole different beast and-”

“He’s good, Damien,” Mark smiles weakly. “And you need to treat yourself well eventually. Throwing yourself into this work all the time is gonna kill you eventually.” He takes Damien’s hand, patting it gently. “It’s about time we broke up for good.”

Damien squeezes his hand back. “Fourth’s times always a charm,” he whispers, his words tinged with humor. 

Mark laughs lightly, letting Damien’s hand go. “We said that last time too.” 

Amra moves towards the exit, and he smiles at Damien with a cock-eyed grin, one eye closed, tongue between his teeth. “I should go,” he sighs contentedly. “But we should get lunch sometime. Really catch up.”

Mark grins, “I’m gonna hold you to that.” 

With the papers under his arm, Damien kisses Mark’s forehead one last time, before turning on heel and heading towards the entrance. 

 

</3

 

The two of them head to Damien’s apartment, where they’ve been spending most of their time working on cases. Amra orders food from his favorite place down the street, and Damien takes his and Amra’s jackets, hanging them in the closet. He brushes away the papers already strewn across the table, popping open Matt Raub’s files, and sectioning it out into neat little piles. 

Amra takes a stack, putting his feet up on the table as he pulls his glasses down his nose, and begins to read. Damien does the same, having already having given up a while on trying to keep Amra’s feet off the table, and just kind of letting it happen. 

Zeldyja toddles in from her mid-evening nap, running past Amra, but letting him scratch the top of her head. She zips up on Damien’s lap, curling up for the second leg of her nap. 

The two of them work for a while mostly reviewing information they already know. Damien scratches down a few notes, but they don’t make much more sense than what he already knows.

The doorbell rings, and Amra gets up and speaks in a foreign language Damien can’t catch, laughing the whole time before setting a few bags of Thai food on the table. “You speak Thai?”

“I speak many languages,” Amra giggles ominously. 

“So that’s French, English, and Thai, what else?” 

“German, a little Russian from an ex, Swedish, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, enough Latin to sound professional, Polish, and,” he snaps his fingers. “Croatian. But that one was for a client, and it was recent.”

Damien pops open a container, his only reply an emphatic, “ _ why _ .” 

“For fun,” Amra shrugs. “Besides, I can usually tap into the spirit of someone who spoke a certain language and get it down pretty easily.”

“Really?” Damien raises and eyebrow. 

“Du bist zu süß wann du bist verworren." Amra watches him, his movements slowing. "J'aime l'embarras, ça brille dans tes yeux. Rumienisz się jak letnia róża, która się rozpada." He pauses for a moment, and Damien listens as he switches languages for a fourth time. 'Tengo miedo de cuánto me gustas.”

“Okay I got some of the french, you like when I’m embarrassed? Something about my eyes?”

“Sladak idiot,” Amra laughs while opening his food.

“Did you just call me an idiot?” 

“Maybe…”

The rest of the night passes slowly enough, throwing food at one another and comparing notes. Damien still stews over what Amra might’ve said, bothering him enough for rough translations.

“Okay!” Amra kicks a leg at Damien as he throws an ice cube from his drink at Amra’s head. “The first one was German, and it uh, basically mean, you are very...funny when you’re confused. I said in French that your eyes glitter when you’re embarrassed, and that um.” He stops for a second, smiling at the floor. “In Polish I said that you’ve...got gumption. And then in Spanish I said that I was surprised how quickly we’ve become friends.” 

Damien’s cocks an eyebrow. “Really?”

Amra swallows slowly, his eyes glinting in the light. He’s clearly lying. Probably cussing Damien out and calling him a donkey’s anus or something. “Really.”

“And the last one?”

“We don’t need to talk about the last one.”

Another ice cube beans Amra in the head. “You’ve got a scary good aim,” he says as he dodges it with little ease. “And it was Croatian.”

“You called me an idiot.”

“I called you a  _ sweet _ idiot.” Amra sits back as Damien’s face grew very warm very quickly. Amra’s smile is poisonous, sinking itself into Damien’s veins. “I jest moja róża.”

It's taking a lot of Damien’s power not to try and kiss this dumbass right now. “I don’t know what you just said, but I’m sure that I wouldn’t like it.” 

Amra moves his feet from where they rest on the table, and with the grace of a dancer, glides across the table to get his face right next to Damien’s, voice whispered so softly against his ear. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” His breath is warm against Damien’s cheek. He forgets how to breathe, he forgets his damn name for the moment. 

A fingertip traces his jaw, and Damien finds himself leaning ever so slightly into the motion. “Oh,  _ Liebling.”  _

“Amra…” A single movement could rip him apart in that moment. He doesn’t think he’d care. 

Damien sits stock still as Amra pulls away, a small cat like grin pulling across his features. Despite the warmth and grin on his face, he doesn’t look down at Damien. “I should get going.” His voice falters.  _ Damien didn’t think it could do that _ . “It’s getting late.”

“Uh...uh-huh.” Damien is stuck at the table, his shaking fingers brushing the table top. He’s looking everywhere except for Amra’s face. “Yeah, it’s uh, yeah it’s later than I realized. Um. Yeah.” 

Amra laughs lightly to himself, opening the closet and pulling on his jacket. “Goodnight detective.” 

“Yes. Yes, uh. Night.” 

Amra closes the door behind him, and Damien collapses onto the table. He pulls his phone from his pocket, opening a message to Courtney. 

D:  _ I think that Amra’s gonna be the death of me _

D:  _ Or my career _

D:  _ Whichever comes first _

Her response comes a half hour later.

C:  _ lol you  _ **_were_ ** _ always a hopeless romantic _ . 

He spends the next several hours trying to get her to take that back. She, of course, refuses quite adamantly. 

Damien doesn’t do much work for the rest of the night, too caught up with other thoughts. The clock passes midnight quickly, and Damien is roused from his state of half in a daydream half in reality by a notification on his phone.

A reminder. 

_Poker game - Redbird -_ _IMPORTANT_.


	14. Fourteen

Damien isn't sure why he was actually going through with this. The Councilmen had asked him to come, but he trusted their motivations about as much as he trusted the Heart-Eater with a knife, which was not much.

He’s still frazzled from the encounter with Amra earlier in the night, trying his best not to think about how close he’d gotten. How close he’d been to just fucking melting into his arms. When did he get so pathetic?

Damien loops his tie around his neck, fastening it tight. He stares himself down in the mirror, trying to find the life behind his eyes, and coloring himself surprised when it floated around his irises. Damien hasn’t felt this alive in a long time.

He finds himself thinking about the Heart Eater again, something he hasn’t done in a long time. In the sense that he hasn’t thought deeply about the Heart Eater. The man still confuses him, and the fact that he’s managed to keep most of himself hidden from the police worries Damien. They should have found more about him by now, right?

He moves himself away from it, locking his apartment and heading down to the cab he’d called himself earlier. If not just information he got from tonight, he hoped that it’d help him get his mind off of other things too, not just the Heart Eater, but Amra as well. 

The cab takes him to 3rd Street, and he gets out just before the Stag Lounge. It’s a small bar that has drinks so expensive only higher end people even try to get in through the front door. Damien slides past the bouncers outside, heading in past tables of men with cigars and thirty year scotch. The bartender eyes him carefully but he keeps moving until he’s reached the back of the lounge, where a fidgety young man stands with his hands in front of his stomach.

“Hello,” the man nods at Damien.

“Uh, Redbird.” 

The man steps back and opens the door for Damien. The second he steps inside he smells fine cigars accompanied by the laughter of men. A head darts up from the table.

“Detective Haas, you’ve made it!” 

“Councilman Bereta, good to see you again.” The man stands, pulling out a chair for Damien. 

“Take a seat my good man.” He takes a sip of whatever he’s been drinking and looks at Damien with warm eyes. “I trust your way here wasn’t too terrible.”

“You know how the city’s traffic is.” Damien smiles lightly. “I managed.”

“HA!” A man Damien only barely recognizes laughs like the booming twang of a bass drum. “I like this one. What’d you say your name is kid?”

“Uh, Haas, Damien Haas. Detective with the SPPD.”

The man leaned back towards where Bereta still stood. “You let a cop in here?” The words aren’t threatening, but they still keep their edge. 

“We let Rygg in here,” he says without looking up from his drink. 

The man puts his hands up. “You’re not wrong about that.” He turns back to Damien. “I’m Councilman Steve Zaragoza, it’s good to meet you Mr. Haas.” 

Another man hurried in. “Sorry for my tardiness boys.” He settles his things into a chair before turning to Damien. “Ooh, newbie.” The man holds his hand out. “Kevin Rygg. Judge.”

“Damien Haas. Detective.” 

“So,” Kevin settles into a chair. “Shall we play?” 

Damien knew a little about poker from what his dad had taught him as a kid, but his knowledge besides that was lacking. The other four began cleaning him out before the game even started. It was all laughter and small talk until the real questions started, the ones Damien had been bracing himself for even before he’d arrived.

“So, Mr. Haas.” Councilman Morgan finally speaks. “What is it we’ve been hearing about this,  _ serial killer _ ?” 

“Oh  _ he’s  _ the one on this case?” Kevin laughs in response. “I was wondering what connection this poor sap had to get in here.” He shuffles his cards a little. “But I too, am intrigued, please, tell us more.”

“Um, we don’t really know much. He likes hearts, that much we do know.”

“He’s not called the Heart Eater for no reason.” Zaragoza does another bass drum laughing boom. 

“Of course not,” Damien grits his teeth slightly. “But he is a sadistic killer. Very smart. Very secretive. But we’re close to cracking his identity.” He nods more to himself than the others. “We’ll have him soon enough.” 

The four nod in return at their cards. Kevin speaks up, “I for one, am glad for you Mr. Haas. Doing everything you can to keep this city safe. Like all of us do when we can.” 

The game continues on into the night, with the four of them pressing Damien for more and more information, but he kept up the fight, keeping himself as locked down as he could. He found himself to be a quick learner, making back most of the money he’d lost to them, but still coming in at the end with his pockets less full than they were previously. 

The five of them pack up to go a good way past midnight, half drunk on liquor and half drunk on the pride they’d both won and lost. Just before they went their separate ways, Councilman Bereta turns back to him.

“You put up a good fight tonight, Mr. Haas. I do hope you plan on coming back again.”

Kevin shakes his head up and down. “Yes I’d love to take more of your money.” 

“We’ll see.” Damien laughs lightly. “Good night Councilmen. Good night Judge.” 

The four of them wave him off, and he clambers into a cab, letting it drive him into the night. 

 

</3 </3 </3

 

Lasercorn watches the Detective doze off in the back of his cab. Oh how easily he could snap him up right here, whisk him away into the darkness like he wants to so badly.

But he must control himself. It’s not quite time for their epic conclusion quite yet. There’s still so much the Detective needs to do before their final moves can be made.

Every few seconds, his eyes flick up to the rearview mirror, watching how the Detective’s face glows under streetlight, or how his hair, growing shaggier by the day, falls in his face. He will hold that face someday, he will end that face someday. He will control it, become it, love it.

Because all of this will end with the Detective, his soulmate, his partner, by his side. Like the balance of the world was supposed to have it years ago.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Delicate Doll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421410) by [AngelAgainstAWindow (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/AngelAgainstAWindow)




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